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OE  CALIF.  LIBBABY,  LOS  ANGEIX5 


VIOLETS, 


EARLY  AND  LATE. 


POEMS 


BY  MARIA  BALLARD  IIOLYOKE. 


CHICAGO  : 

MILLS  &  SPINING,  PUBLISHERS. 
1888. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S80.  by 

MARIA  BALLARD  HOLYOKE, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


MILLS  &  SHINING. 

PRINTERS, 

S4,  86  AND  88  FIFTH  AVE., 
CHICAGO. 


IEDI6ATI0N. 


To  my  kindred  by  ties  of  blood  or  relationship;— to  cherished  friends, 
akin  by  ties  of  affection  and  congeniality,— to  the  several  peoples  among 
whom  I  have  labored,  as  the  wife  of  a  pastor,  in  the  precious  work  of  the 
Gospel  ;  with  whom  lias  been  my  home  until  now  ;  where  also  these  songs 
sprang  into  being,— to  the  great,  imforgotten  multitudes  of  hearers  and 
noble  co-laborers  in  the  five  hundred  and  fifty  towns,  from  Massachusetts 
pines  to  California's  Golden  Gate,  where  I  have  spoken  in  behalf  of  Tem- 
perance and  Christian  work,— and  to  the  public,  who  may  find  herein 
suggestiveness  or  strains  accordant  with  its  thought  and  feeling,  this  book 
is  affectionately  Dedicated. 

At  many  of  your  firesides  or  friendly  boards  1  have  sat,  and  by  your 
ministries  been  strengthened  for  life's  battle.  My  heart  sings  of  you,  as 
the  shell  of  the  sea. 

Some  of  the  earlier  verses  were  written  from  a  sick  bed  while  conva- 
lescing ;  many  while  pressed  with  arduous  labors  and  responsibilities.  With 
more  of  opportunity,  I  might  have  accomplished  something  more  worthy. 

Forty-six  of  these  children  of  my  brain  have  already  made  their  bow  to 
the  public  through  the  pages  of  various  magazines  and  the  columns  of  the 
secular  and  religious  press— many  of  them  unaccompanied  by  my  name. 
The  kindness  of  their  reception  has  encouraged  me  to  gather  together  my 
stray  waifs  into  a  permanent  home,  adding  to  them  sixty  poems,  the  work 
of  my  maturer  years,  and  never  before  published. 

While  it  is  true  "  we  learn  in  suffering  what  we  teach  in  song"  (and 
some  of  these  lines  were  written  as  with  blood-drops,  "  Two  Life  Pictures  " 
being  composed  from  a  sick-bed,  while  my  babe  lay  in  her  coffin,  not  yet 
folded  away  in  the  grave),  I  would  guard  against  that  which  has  annoyed 
other  writers  with  respect  to  their  own  productions,  namely,  the  inference 
that  each  poem  is  a  fact  in  the  author's  life.  Such  inference  is  unwarranted. 

It  is  the  province  of  a  biographer  to  narrate  facts;  of  a  poet,  to  picture 
thoughts  and  emotions,  which  may  be  the  fruit  either  of  his  intuition,  ima- 
gination, experience,  or  observation  of  others,  the  only  requisite  being  that 
they  be  true  to  nature  and  of  an  elevating  tendency. 

In  listening  to  the  inward  voice,  it  is  not  always  possible  to  distinguish 
it  from  the  faint  reverberation  of  some  bell  of  memory.  I  have  sought  to 
bring  to  the  public  the  songs  which  first  sung  themselves  in  my  own  soul, — 
the  boquets  and  knots  of  flowers  which,  if  less  beautiful  than  many  anoth- 
er's, grew  in  my  own  little  posy-bed,  watered  and  nourished  by  my  care, 
love  and  tears. 

Little  book,  companion  of  many  earnest  hours,  go  forth  on  thy  mission 
in  this  great  world.  M.  B.  H. 


60NTENTS. 


THE  SINGER'S  APOLOGY 7 

AN  IDYL  OF  THE  OLD  ROOF-THEE 9 

MOTHERHOOD, •  n 

MlRAGB, 13 

MY  (JRKED, is 

AMONG  THE  NIGHTINGALES, 17 

THE  BATTLE-CALL, 19 

GOLD-SEEKERS 21 

HEAVEN  is  HERE 22 

TWO  LIFE-PICTURES, ...  24 

THE  POETS'  SYMPOSIUM ,  27 

WE  DON'T  FORGET  You,  DARLING 37 

Ocu  JEWELS 39 

LIVES  THAT  ARE  POEMS, 40 

KEEPSAKES,  .             .             41 

THE  PSALM  OF  DOG  STAR  DAYS,  .             43 

WHAT  THE  DEWDHOP  TOLD  ME,      ....             45 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  FLUTE, ...  47 

EXPECTATION,  - 50 

EYES  OF  BLUE 52 

ANGELS  OF  THE  HOME, •     .  53 

A  TEMPERANCE  LYRIC 56 

REFRAIN,             •     .      .      .  57 

WHICH  WAY  ? 58 

THE  OTHER  SIDE, 58 

GOOD  TIMES 61 

ALMOST  HOME 63 

THE  FLOWERS,      .....             64 

TOKENS  OF  GOD 66 

MOSSES  OF  BRIGHT  MEMORIES, 67 

To  THE  OLD  STONE-QUARRY, 70 

DEEDS, 71 

BE  STRONG  IN  VIRTUE  AND  IN  GOD 72 

MOONLIGHT  IN  WINTER, • 73 

SUMMER  MOONLIGHT 74 

GOD'S  WAY, 76 

INVOCATION  OF  WATER,       ....             77 

A  TEST 78 

OLD  AGE 79 

THE  VILLAGE  BELL,   .      .             -so 

OLD  FATHER  TIME, 82 

WHAT  is  LOVE? 84 

FOUND  AT  AN  INN, 86 

PARTING, SH 

FOUR  VOICES  OF  LIFE, 90 

GRUMBLE  ALLEY  AND  THANKFUL  STRKKT, Ste 

THE  CHANCE  MEETING tw 

THE  DREAMER, »•"= 

HER  POSTSCRIPT, 

INTERROGATION. 

ESTRANGED, 101 

SING  TO  ME  NOW  OF  JESUS los 

SHIPWRECK 1<M 


vi  CONTENTS. 

UNLOVED, 106 

THE  MONODY  OP  DOLOROSA ioe 

JACK  AND  POLLY,       .            .                        .            .  no 

VKSPER  MEMORIES,  .  .  .  .  ...  .112 

A  LOVER'S  REMONSTRANCE,    .                    113 

A  DAYDREAM  ENDED .  ....  .115 

MOSAIC-WORKERS, ....            ...  lie 

A  DREAM  OF  ARCADY,   ...             .             .                                .                   .  us 

THE  SUNDOWN  SEA .                       .      ...  ISO 

THEY  WATCHED  THE  SUNSET,                       .       .                   ...                   .  122 

UKST.          .              .                           ...  125 

THE  MOTHER'S  TASK,    ....                                           ...  TJT 

l.\  MKMORIAM,       ....  .  ....  .       .  .129 

THE  EARLY  DEAD r.vi 

LITTLE  EVA, .                                .  m 

VOICES  OF  NATURE,            .                               .                                           .  133 

BABY  GRACE,.      ....            .      .            .                        .            ...  i.tr. 

PET  CHARLIE, .      .            137 

THE  ROBIN  BY  MY  WINDOW .      .             139 

SUSPENSE  AND  RELIEF 141 

BY  THE  CRADLE-SIDE .  144 

THE  SPINSTER, .      .  146 

STANZAS  INSCRIBED  TO  A  YOUNG  LADY,      .                                147 

THE  DEATH  OF  THE  SECOND-BOHN,  ...                                             ...  150 

THE  EMPTY  NEST 152 

LITTLE  BROOMSTICK, 153 

AT  DUTY'S  GATE i.vr 

GOD'S  WORLD,    .            i.-.<» 

ONE  MORE  DAY .  n;j 

TUB  VISITOR  BY  NIGHT ....  ies 

THE  TEST  OF  POETRY .  ie« 

TWILIGHT  MUSINGS, .      .      .      .  167 

WAITING  NEAR  THE  RIVER, .      .      .  ieo 

PRESSED  FLOWERS  FROM  THE  LAND  OF  LONG  AGO  . 

A  MOTHER, .      .  .173 

THE  SOUL'S  QUEST 174 

DISILLUSION,    ....  175 

A  SONG  OF  CHE3R,      .  ....  .      1 7ti 

A  POET'S  HEART,    .  .       177 

ADIEU .177 

PREMONITION .178 

POEMS  OF  SPECIAL  OCCASIONS  : 

REUNION  POEM ....             .181 

FOR  A  GOLDEN  WEDDING,        .      .  184 

.  COMMEMORATIVE  STANZAS,         .  ...    is, 5 

MEMORIAL  ODE,      .  i»r 

LOOKING  FORWARD,  .       .  188 

HARK!  THE  MUFFLED  DHUMS  ARE  BEATING!  190 

PRIZE  CARRIER'S  ADDRESS,  is.-,n ...    is.:' 

PRIZE  CARRIER'S  ADDRESS,  ism.  .  .      .       i.*; 

TWENTY-EIGHT,  .  noi 

THANKS 20* 

TEN  CIRCLING  YEARS,    . 

THE  MINISTRY  OF  GRIEF. 

THE  POET  AWAITING  A  VERDICT.   .      .  -m 

MY  BIRDS,  . 

VIOLETS ....  .                  .      .      211 


Singer's    ppology, 


IF  I  may  not,  like  the  skylark, 
Soar  with  glorious  bursts  of  song, 
Nor,  like  pensive  nightingale, 

Strains  most  ravishing  prolong; 

Nor,  a  little,  timid   linnet, 

Sweetly  gush  in  hawthorn  tree; 
If  a  warbler  to  entrance  you 

I  may  never,  never  be; 

Tf  to  wake  the  distant  echoes 

I  have  two  notes,  or  but  one, — 

13e  it  mourning  dove's  or  cuckoo's, — 
With  full  soul  I  will  sing  on. 

God  has  room  for  all  His  creatures, 
And  the  varied  tone  of  each 

Fills  the  air  with  richer  music 

Than  the  single  silv'rest  speech. 

Monotones  may  be  full  royal; 

Monotones  the  heart  can  move; 
And  the  note  I  'd  sing  in  dying 

Is  the  golden  note  of  LOVE. 

Mother-love — of  all  most  tender, 
Never-dying,  ever  free; 
[7] 


VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Lover's  love — the  most  ecstatic; 
Filial  love — so  sweet  to  me; 

Love  of  angels  hovering  o'er  us, 

Guiding,  guarding  us  from  harm; 

Father-love — the  great  All-Father'-. 
Filling  us  with  heavenly  calm! 

Souls  distraught  by  angry  voices, 
Faint  with  toil,  and  care-oppix-st, 

Loves  of  earth  or  loves  of  Heaven 
Softly  sung  may  give  you  rest. 

Love  shall  bring  surcease  of  sorrow. 
Heal  the  wounds  of  man's  untruth; 

Love  shall  sing  of  brighter  Morrow, 
Or  recall  the  days  of  Youth, — 
Ring  the  silver  bells  of  Youth! 


fin   Idyl   of   blpB    ©Id    Roof-bpee, 


T  ONG  time  a  dweller  in  the  town, 

J— i     Far  from  my  childhood's  peaceful  home, 

At  length  I  dropped  my  burdens  down, 

A  golden  month  to  rest  and  roam. 
The  city's  din  is  far  away, 

The  country's  green  is  at  my  feet; 
The  sun  of  June  makes  fair  the  day, 

The  meadow's  breath  is  fresh  and  sweet. 
And  at  my  will 
I  saunter  still, 

Adown  the  orchard,  o'er  the  hill. 

How  looms  the  Past,  while  here  I  rove 

And  scan  my  eai'ly  haunts  again! 
A  child  I  wander  in  the  grove, 

And  echo  back  the  thrush's  strain; 
Pluck  in  the  wild  grass  posies  gay, — 

Windflowers  and  bluebells  in  the  woods,— 
Snuffing  the  fragrant  new-mown  hay, 

Sighting  the  fawn  in  solitudes. — 
Noting  the  tree 
With  nestlings  three, 

Or  where  the  ripe  June  apples  be! 

I  pause  to  drink  at  mossy  spring, 

And  track  the  cornfield's  vivid  green; 
I  hear  again  the  wild  lark  sing 


10  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AXD  LATE. 

From  out  the  wheatfield's  golden  sheen. 
Then  seek  the  leaf-hid  mansion,  where 

My  mother  smiles  at  open  door, 
And  strain  to  see  the  silver  hair, — 

My  father's — who  will  come  no  more. 
The  tears  so  flow 
I  scarcely  know 
If  it  be  Now  or  Long  Ago! 

Oh!   dear  the  old  farmhouse  to  me! 

The  homely  ways,  the  ample  cheer; 
The  refuge  at  my  mother's  knee 

From  childhood's  every  grief  and  fear. 
And  dear  the  memory  of  those  days, 

Bathed  in  love's  amber  atmosphere, 
When  all  our  voices  rose  in  praise, 

When  sire  and  child  were  bowed  in  prayer. 
But  where  are  they, 
The  fond,  the  gay, 

Who  filled  the  great,  white  house  with  May? 

Gone  like  the  birds  from  last  year's  nest! 

Gone  as  the  leaves  in  autumn  fly! 
Some  to  the  cities  of  the  West; 

Some  toil  beneath  an  Indian  sky; 
Some,  other  prairies  sow  and  reap; 

One  sank  beneath  the  moaning  sea; 
Some  in  the  churchyard  lie  asleep; 

And,  quivering  in  the  Old  Roof-tree, 
One  homesick  waits 
The  swing  of  gates 

To  waft  her  to  Heaven's  bright  estate.-! 


I. 

OYE  who  rock  the  little  men, 
Or  kiss  the  cherub  on  your  knee, 
I  view  you  with  a  secret  pain, — 
My  babes  are  gone  from  me. 
Your  darlings  sport  in  lovelit  room, — 

Mine  dreamless  sleep  where  violets  blow. 
Your  roof-tree  's  white  with  summer  bloom, 
But  mine  is  white  with  snow! 
Ah!   with  untimely  snow. 

II. 

O  homes  that  ring  with  childhood's  mirth! 

O  happy  bosoms  babies  press! 
Ye  may  not  know  how  drear  is  earth 

Without  a  child's  caress. 
When,  tiring  of  the  wee  ones'  calls, 

You  long  to  flee  from  strife  and  noise, 
Think !   some  would  part  with  lands  and  halls 

To  have  their  girls  and  boys, — 

Those  long-lost  girls  and  boys! 

III. 

Madonna  and  the  saintly  child, 

The  artists  paint  her  evermore. 

She  's  the  ideal  of  their  dreams, — 
The  infant 's  at  their  door. 

[11] 


12  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

And  Paradise  comes  back  to  earth, 

And  home  's  a  little  heaven  below, 

Where  tender,  sacred  joys  have  birth, 
Which  only  parents  know; 
Ah!   happy  parents  know! 

IV. 
True  Motherhood  is  most  like  God. 

True  Motherhood  is  of  the  soul; 
Heeds  not  the  sensuous  tie  of  blood. 

Loves  not  with  scanty  dole. 
Forgets  not,  though  the  seas  divide, 

And  separating  years  be  long; 
Though  locks  grow  blanched  and  faith  be  tried, 

True  Motherhood  is  strong, — 

Is  deep,  and  pure,  and  strong. 

V. 

Some  great  hearts,  too,  by  God's  strange  chrism 

Such  majesty  of  love  attain, 
They  leap  across  Sin's  dark  abysm, 

To  clasp  a  race  of  men. 
Woman  may  feed  the  altar-tires, 

Fair  priestess  of  a  hallowed  home, 
Or  walk  where  purity  expires, 

To  guide  the  feet  that  roam; 
./(O  feet,  how  far  ye  roam!)   ^ 

VI. 

Or  lift  the  drunkard  up  from  wrong, 
Or  sit  sweet  teacher  of  the  youth, 

Or  tell  a  hushed  and  waiting  throng 
The  wonders  of  God's  truth. 


MIRAGE.  13 


In  all,  her  Mother-heart  "s  the  same; 
To  love  and  service  consecrate; 

Fidelity  her  constant  aim, — 

Her  crown  at  Heaven's  gate, — 
Crowned  at  the  jasper  gate! 


/Airagc, 


I. 

NOON  on  the  burning  sands! 
The  desert  stretched  its  somber  waste  around. 
Afar,  the  gloomy,  rock-i'ibbed   mountains  frowned, 
And,  as  with  savage  guards,  the  vast  plain  bound. 

Slow  paced  the  caravans. 

The  sun  shot  down  his  blistering,  golden  fire, 
And  tree  was  none,  to  shelter  from  his  ire. 

II. 

*  Water!    I  parch  with  thirst. 
O  for  a  cooling  drink!'    one  moaning  cried — 
'One  long,  sweet  draught,  kneeling  by  fountain  side! 
O  but  to  lave,  to  plash,  in  flowing  tide, 

While  in  this  land  accurst! 
To  bathe  refreshingly  this  fevered  brow! 
A  streamlet's  gush  were  heavenly  music  now. 


14  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

III. 

'Would  I  could  stand  again 
Beside  ray  father's  well,  and  hear  the  dip 
Of  mossy  bucket  in  its  depths,  and  sip 
Its  pure,  delicious  nectar  on  my  lip, 
And  greet  my  mother,  then. 
Alas!   alas!   the  good  old  days  are  o'er; 
I  never  prized  them  half  enough  before.' 

IV. 

For  days,  nor  brook,  nor  bird, 
Nor  green  oasis  met  the  traveler's  eye. 
On  swept  the  rock  waste,  streaked  with  alkali, 
And  man  and  beast  were  fain  to  sink  and  die. 

But  hark!   a  shout  is  heard. 
'Water!    look  yon!    a  sparkling  river  flows! 
Bear  up,  speed  on!   soon  we  shall  end  our  woes.' 

V. 

Joy  leaped  from  eye  to  eye. 
Electric  flashed  around  the  blessed  news, 
And  smiling,  new-born  Hope  did  swift  infuse 
Fresh  strength  into  each  eager  courser's  thews. 

They  sped  right  merrily. 

Mile  after  mile  of  sand,  they  spun,  they  flew; 
But  lo!   the  long-sought  stream  no  nearer  grew! 

VI. 

As  if  a  mocking  wraith, 

Distinct  to  sight,  the  blue,  blue  waters  shone, 
And,  tantalizing,  lured  the  travelers  on; 
But  when  approached,  all  liquid  trace  was  gone. 

Some,  gasping,  swooned   in  death. 


MIRAGE.  15 

'T  was  but  a  cruel  phantasm  of  the  sands — 
The  weird  Mirage  that  haunts  the  desert .  land's. 

VII. 

Of  phantom  lights  beware! 
A  haughty  soldier  seized  his  gleaming  blade. 
I  fight  for  glory,'  proudly  thus  he  said, 
Then  rushed  to  gory  field,  and  soon  was  dead. 

He  grasped  at  empty  air. 
Not  for  humanity  his  deed  was  done; 
Ambition's  false  Mirage  allured  him  on. 

VIII. 

Burning  the  midnight  oil, 

A  scholar  studied,  toiled  and  wrote  for  fame, 
And  from  its  topmost  rung  inscribed  his  name; 
Drank  deep  its  draught,  more  thirsty  still  became — 

Poor  recompense  for  toil. 
The  millionaire  with  gold  was  still  unblest. 
Mirage  of  wealth  and  honor  bring  no  rest. 

IX. 

'  True  love,  sweet  love  for  me, — 
Divine  elixir  to  a  woman's  heart! ' 
Thus  spake  a  maiden  to  herself  apart. 
O  lily  soul,  beware  thy  lover's  art; 

He  fooleth,  fooleth  thee. 
Ere  human  vows  but  vain  illusion  prove, 
Know — Heaven  yields  unfailing  love  for  love. 


T  HOLD  the  Fatherhood  of  God; 
JL      The  Brotherhood  of  Man  to  man; 
My  Country  's  wide  as  arch  of  heaven, — 
All  people  are  my  countrymen. 

I  hold  that  Sin  is  Seltishm--. 

Whose  heart  is  Love  is  most  like  God; 
He  nearest  Heaven  who  lives  to  bless; 

Himself  most  blest  in  doing  good. 

I  hold,  as  music  sweet,  one  Name, — 
'T  is  every  human  name  above; 

Jesus,  the  Holy  One,  who  came 

To  show  the  world  the  Father's  love. 

He  came  a  light  to  man  in  night, 

Revealed  the  guilt  and  doom  of  Sin; 

The  way  to  peace  and  holiness, 

And  sweetly  drew  the  wanderers  in. 

The  Soul's  an  Organ,  nobly  made; 

But  mute  or  jangling,  ah!    how  soon, 
Till,  by  the  Great  Musician  played, 

'T  is  gloriously  vibrant  grown. 

Come,  Heavenly  Lyrist,  me  attune. 

I  need  thy  touch;   sweep  all  my  keys. 
Do  what  thou  wilt  unto  thine  own, 

Only  evoke  thy  harmonies. 


Migbbipgales, 


I. 

FIRST  I  heard  in  happy  childhood, 
When  the  rosy  day  grew  pale, 
Float  from  dewy,  tangled  wildwood 

Thrilling  song  of  Nightingale. 
"When1  the  brook  was  shaded  over 

By  the  tall  embracing  woods, 
There  sweet  Philomel,  the  lover, 

Charmed  the  listening  solitudes; 
Told  her  heart  amid  the  gloaming — 

Trilled  her  passion  o'er  and  o'er; 
Gushed  in  strains  that  thrilled  and  filled  me, 

And  will  haunt  me  evermore. 

II. 

'  Or  the  years  are  flitting,  flitting! 

I  am  sitting  far  away  * 

From  the  loyal  hearts  and  royal 
•    Who  enfolded  me  that  day. 
Hopes  have  vanished,  dreams  been  banished; 

Burdens  must  be  borne  each  day. 
Help  another,  foe  or  brother, 

Is  the  Law  of  Love  alway. 
Open  ears  I  lend  to  Reason — 

Ponder  deeply  all  her  tales. 
'  Life  's  a  prosy,  work-day  season ' — 
But — I  hear  my  Nightingales. 
[17] 


18  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

III. 
Love  doth  ravish  as  completely 

As  the  bird  of  long  ago; 
Faith  and  Hope  still  singing  sweetly 

O'er  the  winter's  sleet  and  snow: 
'Truth  is  Beauty,  Love  is  Duty — 

Love  is  God,  and  God  is  good.' 
Chords  chromatic  grow  ecstatic 

When  life's  tune  is  understood. 
O,  though  Cold  's  a  bold  newcomer — 

Though  the  Stormwind  sails  and  wails- 
Hearts  that  love  have  golden  summer, 

And  they  list  to  Nightingales! 


Babble-Gall, 


WAKE!   wake!   wake! 
There  's  a  Demon  abroad  in  the  land  ! 
Lo,  an  enemy's  host!    hear  the  War-fiend's  blast! 
Rally,  each  patriot  band! 

Gather  on  prairie  and  glen! 

Muster  the  East  and  the  West; 
March  forward,  brave  men,  beard  the  lion's  den; 

Yield  to  no  tyrant's  behest. 

Be  worthy  your  reverend  sires; 

Your  cause  is  the  truest  and  best. 
See!    Freedom  expires!    save  it  and  your  tires! 

Who  bleeds  for  his  country  is  blest. 


They  have  heard  the  shrill  bugle-blast; 

They  have  leapt  at  a  nation's  loud  call; 
They  have  marshal'd  in  haste,  quick  partings  have  pressed: 

They  have  gone  to  conquer  or  fall. 

God  save  'mid  the  death-dealing  guns 

That  valiant,  unfaltering  host. 
They  are  love's  cherished  ones,  our  husbands  and  sons — 

May  they  ever,  as  now,  be  our  boast. 

White  lips  have  kissed  them  farewell, 
And,  smiling,  sped  them  away. 
[19] 


20  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

But  the  signal-bell  seemed  a  funeral  knell, 
And  wearily  wears  the  day. 


Hark!   't  is  the  battle's  din, 

The  cannon's  thundering  roar, 

The  artillery's  flash,  the  deafening  crash, 
On  fields  all  covered  with  gore. 

Mown  down  by  hundreds,  they  lie 
'Neath  the  batteries'  raking  fire; 

But  still  the  cry,  "The  foe,  they  fly!" 
Urges  the  conflict  dire. 

Intrepid  souls,  in  vain! 

Tomorrow's  sun  shall  see 
The  stiffened  slain,  o'er  all  the  plain, 

Nor  yours  the  victory. 

Wail,  bitterly  wail, 

For  the  gallant,  early  dead. 
The  sod  shall  be  their  sepulcher, 

The  battle-field  their  bed. 

Yet,  undismayed,  arise, 

My  country,  for  the  fight. 
If  thy  flag  waves  o'er  chatteled  slaves, 

Thou  go'st  not  forth  aright. 

Strike  off  Oppression's  chain! 

Dare  nobly  to  do  right! 
Heaven  shall  forefend,  and  triumph  send 

The  hosts  of  God's  own  might. 
September,  1861. 


I. 

in  the  sundown  hunting-grounds  of  gold, 
JL    Near  where  the  white  Sierras  pierce  the  skies ; 
Where  once,  o'er  ruddy  treasures,  rivers  rolled, 
And  miners  shrilled  Eureka!   with  glad  cries, 
And,  flushed  with  sudden  wealth,  bore  off   their  prize. 

II. 

Long  since,  the  great  Bonanza  is  no  more; 

The  ancient  camping-grounds  are  desolate. 
Adventurous  Yankees  seek  some  other  shore, 

Where  for  their  greed  more  tempting  fortunes  wait. 

The  miners'  huts  stand  lonesome,  mocked  of  Fate. 

III. 

'T  was  from  a  mountain  side  I  caught  a  gleam 
Of  river  winding  through  those  barren  lands. 

One  lone  "  Celestial  "  stood  within  the  stream, 
And  shook  a  miner's  pan  in  his  worn  hands, 
Content  by  toil  to  glean  a  few  gold  sands. 

IV. 

O  weary,  bravely  patient  Chinaman'. 

Who,  coming  to  an  oft-worked  field  so  late, 
Still  gathers  up  what  yellow  dust  he  can 

[21] 


22  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Where  others  heaped  their  yellow  nuggets  great. 
Yet  he,  as  they,  has  helped  enrich  the  State. 

V. 

I  'm  a  Gold-Seeker  in  the  mines  of  Truth. 
I  toil  amid  the  hurrying  waves  of  Time. 

Thought-land  was  worked  by  masters  ere  my  youth. 
May  one  so  weak,  so  late,  find  golden  rhyme, 
And  make  the  song-world  richer  for  my  chime? 


Last  words  of  Mrs.  H.  W.  S.,  of  Polo. 


A  SAINT  lay  dying  on  her  bed; 
Departing,  felt  no  fear. 
"  Heaven  is  coming,"  she  sweetly  said- 
Then  quickly,  "  Heaven  is  here!  " 

O  rapturous  thought!    exceeding  joy! 

O  glory  dimly  guessed! 
Did  angel  companies  convoy 

Your  spirit  to  the  Blest? 


HEAVEN  TS  HERE.  23 

Perhaps,  the  film  of  sense  withdrawn, 

You  saw  the  City  of  Light; 
The  golden  harpers  by  the  Throne, 

The  saved  ones  robed  in  white. 

Perhaps  this  other  truth  was  given: 

That  all  who  heavenward  go, 
The  purified,  the  sin-forgiven, 

Begin  their  Heaven  below. 

Who,  as  himself,  holds  others  dear — 
Whose  heart 's  by  Love  possessed — 

Dwells  here  in  upper  atmosphere, 
And  is  divinely  blest. 

Heaven  lies  around  the  holy  soul. 

Faith  calms  his  anxious  fears; 
Faith  makes  the  wounded  spirit  whole, 

Or  jewels  e'en  his  tears. 

Within  the  heart  that  kingdom  lies. 

O  thought  of  blessed  cheer! 
O  mystery  of  mysteries! 

We  may  have  Heaven  here! 


Lifc-PiGburcs, 


I.     BABY  MAY. 

SIX  years  since  we  were  wedded,  love, 
Have  gone  this  very  day  ; 
'T  was  in  the  pleasant  wooing-time 
Of  bright  and  balmy  May. 

Our  hearts  are  still  as  warm  as  when 
We  breath'd  that  solemn  vow  ; 

I  thought  I  loved  thee  fondly  then,  — 
I  know  I  love  thee  now  ! 

Today  our  cherub  child  has  conic  ; 

This  baby  girl  is  given 
To  be  the  jewel  of  our  home, 

Its  sunbeam  fresh  from  Heaven. 

She  is  our  pretty,  only  bird,  — 

She  is  our  first-born  child. 
What  wonder  if  our  souls  arc  stirred 

With  raptures  new  and  wild? 

She  has  her  father's  thoughful  brow, 
Dark  eyes  and  soft  brown  hair, 

A  loving  little  mouth  and  chin,  — 
Our  May  is  sweet  and  fair. 

A  spirit  her  young  bosom  fills; 
Be  it  our  constant  eare. 
[24] 


TWO  LIFE-PICTURES,  25 

'T  will  vibrate  with  a  thousand  thrills — 
God's  image  may  it  bear ! 

A  trust  so  holy  and  so  great  . 

We  take  with  trembling  joy. 
Our  precious  child  we  consecrate 

To  Christ  and  His  employ. 

And  when,  'mid  future  toil  and  strife, 

We  yearning  sigh  for  rest, 
Still  beautiful  will  be  our  life 

With  her  dear  presence  blest. 

Light  of  the  house !    sweet  rose  of  May ! 

Love's  dower  long  delayed ' 
Never  such  bliss  our  bosoms  thrilled 

As  that  which  thou  hast  made ! 

II.    ANGEL  MAY. 

Solemnly  pause  on  the  silent  threshold, 

Softly  tread  o'er  the  darkened  way; 
Yonder  she  lies  in  her  coffin  reposing, 

The  child  of  our  love, — our  heart's  darling  May  ! 

Mute  is  the  air, — -.save  with  wailing  of  mourners ; 

Hushed  the  soft  voice, — making  music  most  swreet; 
Closed  the  large  eye — the  soul's  open  portal ; 

Pallid  the  brow,  and  still  the  heart-beat. 

Slight  baby  hands  white  rosebuds  are  clasping; 

None  of  earth's  flowers  were  lovely  as  she. 
Sweet  was  the  grace  of  our  frail  budding  blossom — 

What  will  our  full  rose  in  Paradise  be? 


26  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Make  her  a  grave  'neath  the  soft  summer  greensward, 
Tenderly  bear  our  best  treasure  away ; 

Precious  the  dust  that  enshrined  the  immortal 
Who  vests  in  the  bosom  of  Jesus  today. 

She  was  the  star  in  affection's  horizon, 

Our  comfort,  our  blessing,  our  innocent  dove ; 

She  was  an  angel  that  shone  on  our  dwelling, 

Then  plumed  her  white  pinions  for  regions  above. 

Oh !   dark  grows  the  day,  and  the  roof-tree  is  dreary, 
Where  home  joys  the  sweetest  but  lately  had  birth ; 

Oh !  dull  grows  the  earth,  and  our  hearts  are  aweary — 
Child !   child !   thou  hast  left  this  a  desolate  earth ! 

Yet,  sweet  one,  thy  memory  shrined  on  Love's  altar 

Sacred  and  beautiful  ever  shall  be; 
Our  gentle  rebuker  when  tempted  we  falter, 

Our  angel  approver  when  evil  we  flee. 

We  will  still  meekly  submit  to  our  Father, 

Who  planted  the  bud  in  His  amaranth  bower, 

Patiently  trusting  that  when  life  is  over 

We  '11  clasp  our  arms  round  her,  and  part  nevermore. 


Poebs'    Syrpposiurr), 


/""lENIUS  may  consort  with  princes, 
Uf     Star  in  proud  palatial  halls ; 
But  't  is  "  to  the  manner  born  " 

Of  common  life  and  humble  walls. 

For  the  Muses  love  to  wander 
Over  mountain,  over  moor; 

Haunt  the  shady  dell  and  fountain, 
Peep  in  lowly  cottage  door; 

Croon  a  lullaby  o'er  cradles, — 

Dance  upon  the  village  green ; 

Sup  ambrosia  from  the  flowers, — 

Dream  beside  the  lakelet's  sheen ; 

Plead  the  suit  of  rustic  lover; 

Sigh  in  ear  of  peasant  maid ; 
Chant  in  cell  of  hero-martyr, — 

Wind  a  requiem  o'er  the  dead. 

But  these  soulful,  winsome  sisters, 

With  their  glorious  gifts  of  song, 

Shrink  from  clinking  vaults  and  coffers ; 
Shun  the  giddy,  heartless  throng ; 

Flee  from  what  is  cold  and  hollow, 
What  is  artificial,  base; 
[27] 


28  VIULKTS,    KAULY  AM)  LATE. 

Wooed  and  won  and  wed  forever 
By  true  heart  and  honest  face ! 

Thus  the  souls  of  lofty  passion — 

Poets  blest  with  goddess'  love, — 

Quit  the  garish  courts  of  fashion, 
Deeper,  purer  joys  to  prove. 

Thus  the  simpler  folk  around  them 
Breathe  the  fragrance  they  distil, 

As  the  vase  which  long  held  roses 
Sheds  the  scent  of  roses  still. 

Ah !   the  least  may  keep  their  presence, 
For  in  books  their  Authors  live  ! 

Books  are  life-blood,  spirit,  essence; 
These  immortal  perfumes  give. 


I  will  paint  you  a  Symposium 

Where  with  Poets  oft  I  feast. 

These  are  singers  ripe  and  royal, 
And  each  freely  gives  his  best. 

You  will  find  no  pomp  of  riches, 
Gorgeous  hangings,  lordly  hall, 

Sculptured  Cupids  in  the  niches, 
.Masterpieces  on  the  wall, — 

Furnishings  of  stately  splendor, 

Air  that  palls  with  hothouse  bloom,- 

This  is  simple,  pure  and  fragrant,   - 
Just.   "  a    white   rose  of  ; 


THE  POETS'   SYMPOSIUM.  29 

Second  story,  this  sky-parlor, 

Perched  above  a  busy  street! 
Near  to  changeful  life  and  motion, 

Where  four  ways  of  traffic  meet. 

Sounds  fantastic  music  making,   , 

Clang  of  smithy,  puff  of  train; 
Hard  by  rears  a  gaunt,  grim  windmill, 

Swinging  round  and  round  again. 

In  the  room 's  a  sweet-toned  Steinway, 

Ballads,  photos,  books,  guitar; 
Two-score  poets  on  the  what-not, 

Open  volumes  here  and  there. 

Just  a  cosy,  homelike  center, 

Such  as  thousand  parlors  are ; 
But  to  me  a  glowing  Bethel, 

Angels  coming  down  the  stair. 

Often  when  I'm  stilly  sitting, 

Reading  o'er  th'  immortal  rhyme, 
Soul  to  soul  I  hear  them,  speaking 

Once  again,  the  bards  sublime. 

Gracious  presences  seem  real; 

Far  away  Care's  surges  roar. 
I  am  in  a  world  ideal, 

Lonely,  wistful  now  no  more. 

Palpitates  the  air  with  spirit; 

Sense  and  self  withdraw  apart; 
Now  I  feel  the  throb  of  ages! 

Clasp  the  world  unto  my  heart! 


30  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Oh,  sweet  tumult  of  emotion, 

Trembling,  surging  in  my  breast ! 

Feelings  strange,  which  like  an  ocean 
Onward  sweep  and  cannot  rest. 

Poets !   ye  are  charm  dispensers ; 

Ye  have  made  Enchanted  Ground. 
Poet-thoughts  are  burning  censers 

Swinging  balmy  odors  round. 

Soul  of  song!   the  angels  love  thee, 
Glorious  Bird  of  Paradise. 

Lifted  on  thy  free,  brave  pinions, 
Who  aspire  may  reach  the  skies. 


TRIBUTE  TO  MRS.  E.  B.  BROWNING. 
While  I  listened  to  the  Smger>. 

One  awoke  a  golden  song,  , 

Sang  of  deathless  love  and  duty, 

Sang  each  true  and  sang  them  long. 

English  skylark,  Mrs.  Browning, 
Though  she  held  Italia  dear; 

Trilled  "Aurora,  "  De  Proftindis," 

Trilled  her  "  Sonnets "  crystal  clear, 

Sweet  as  honey.     Fondest  lover 

Ne'er  confessed  in  tenderer  lay. 

Over  Nature's  wildering  keyboard 
Flew  her  hand  in  skillful  play. 

None  more  worthy  of  the  Bay-crown; 

Never  nobler  soul  had  breath. 


THE  POETS'  SYMPOSIUM.  31 

Be  her  name  an  inspiration. 

On  her  grave  I  lay  this  wreath. 

TRIBUTE  TO  TENNYSON. 

Green  thy  brow  with  fadeless  laurel, 

England's  Laureate,  Tennyson. 
Touch  of  thine  recalls  the  lyrist 

Who  with  song  did  move  the  stone. 

Clear  thou  seest  with  prophet  vision,  — 

Faultless  wieldest  Fancy's  wand. 
Driftest  us  through  seas  of  silver 

Nigh  a  music-haunted  land. 

"  In  Memoriam  " — it  voiceth 

All  who  tender  grief  have  wed. 
Locksley  Hall 's  a  martial  band-burst, 
After  happy  love  has  fled. 

Of  all  lofty  thought  and  feeling 

Grand  Interpreter  art  thou. 
Madrigal  and  "  Idyl "  charm  us, 

Sweet  as  roses,  pure  as  snow. 

TRIBUTE  TO  WORDSWORTH. 

First,  O  philosophic  Wordsworth, 

Read  I  thee  in  days  of  youth, 
With  wide-open  eyes,  that  noted 

Pearls  of  beauty,  gems  of  truth. 

Dear  as  flowers  in  childhood  gathered, 

Still  I  hold  in  Memory's  cells 
"We  are  Seven" — "She  was  a  Phantom:" 

Stars  of  heaven  thus  shine  from  wells. 


32  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Ministering  priest  of  Nature! 

Though  within  her  heart  didst  look, 
Caught'st  her  daisy-printed  secrets. 

Sung  by  skylark,  gushed  by   brook; 

Golden-writ  on  evening  primrose, — 

Wind- breath' d  over  woodland  fount, 

Rural  life  thou  limnest  nobly, 
Artist-Seer  of  Rydal  Mount. 

TRIBUTE  TO  BURNS. 

Hark !   one  singeth,  heartsome  ringeth 
"Auld  Lang  Syne"  and  "a'  that." 
k*  The  honest  man,  though  e'er  sae  poor, 
Is  king  of  men  for  a'  that." 

Robbie  Burns !    dear  Robbie  Burns, 

Stout  defender  of  the  lowly  ! 
Each  brave  thought,  each  deed  well  wrought, 

Helps  the  cause  that 's  pure  and  holy. 

From  Bonnie  Doon  was  hushed  too  soon 

The  voice  that  wooed  sweet  Highland  Mary 

O  Scotia !  when  will  bard  again 

Wake  strains  so  ravishing  and  faery  ? 

TRIBUTE  TO  SHAKSPEARE. 
In  the  galaxy  of  genius 

Shineth  one  transcendant  star; 
Bright,  mysterious,  commanding, 

In  the  centuries'  Blue  afar. 

All  unite  to  him  reverence, 

All  delight  to  own  him  king. 


THE  POETS'  SYMPOSIUM.  33 

Shakspeare !    universal  poet ! 
Many  spirits  in  him  sing. 

By  what  mother  formed  and  nourished 
Came  those  great,  surpassing  powers  ? 

By  what  teacher  trained  and  tempered 
In  his  youth's  impetuous  hours? 

Ask  the  grave!     It  cannot  hear  thee. 

Mute  as'  Sphynx  on  Egypt's  sands. 
Monument  unique  and  peerless 

Stands  the  work  of  Shakspeare's  hands. 

TRIBUTE  TO  COLERIDGE. 

Many  methods  had  the  harpers, 

Grave  or  jocund,  fond  or  gay ; 
But  the  pain,  the  bliss  of  loving 

Ever  seemed  the  favorite  lay. 
Exquisite  that  strain  by  Coleridge, 

Heard  from  tender  lips  at  eve, 
How  he  breathed  his  fervent  passion, 

How  he  won  his  "  Genevieve." 

TRIBUTE  TO  HOOD. 

Twin  with  Love  is  Charity. 

When  entwined  the  sisters  stand, 
One  in  MThite  and  one  in  crimson, 

Fairer  vision  hath  no  land. 

Charity's  the  pure-robed  daughter 

Of  the  great  forgiving  King. 
She  was  near,  inspiring  angel, 

When  our  Hood  began  to  sing. 


34  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AXD  LATE. 

Genial  Hood,  whose  changeful  fancy 
Dimpled  like  a  windswept  lake! 

Quick  and  generous  his  pity 

For  the  wretched  poor,  who  quake 

When  the  hungry  wolf  is  glaring 

At  the  open  cottage  door; 
For  the  erring  whom  the  scornful 

Spread  no  kindly  mantle  o'er. 

Hood  's  the  poet  for  the  million. 

Who  knows  not  his  "  Bridge  of  Sighs  ?  " 
Yet  he  learned  in  pain  the  music 

Which  with  tears  has  filled  our  eye>. 

TRIBUTE  TO  MRS.  HEMANS. 
Fixed  in  Fame's  cerulean, 

Among  the  stars  of  England's  glory, 
Shines  serenely  Mrs.  Hemans, 

After  life's  untranquil  story. 

"  Breaking  waves  dashed  high  "  above  her, 

Made  her  song  the  sadder,  sweeter, 
Could  not  dim  the  poet  eyes 

That  have  vision  now  complete r. 

"  Answer,  burning  stars  of  night !  " 

Keeping  watch  until  the  morn, 
Do  no  human  nightingales 

Sing  divine,  unpierced  by  thorn  ? 


In  the  bright  symposium 

Fancy-pictured  round  my  board,  - 


THE  POETS1  SYMPOSIUM.  35 

Thus  from  Helicon  they  come, 
And  the  rare  elixir 's  poured. 

Here  for  thund'rous  brows  of  Genius 
There  are  thought-illumined  Books ! 

Here  the  merry  feast  is  Reason ! 
And  the  Poets  are  the  cooks ! 

Here  they  lie,  all  night  on  bookshelves ; 

Never  wrangling  sound  is  heard. 
You  will  find  no  envious  mock-elves — 

Generous  welcome  is  assured. 

Other  poets  with  the  Purple 

Oft  the  diapason  swell : 
Dr.  Young  with  praise  of  Friendship, 

Massey  with  Babe  Christabel ; 

Dante,  loved  of  Beatrice, 

From  Cimmerian  darkness  led ; 
Milton  awful  from  Olympus, 

Laurel-wreathed  about  his  head. 

In  this  charmed,  magic  circle 

From  the  New  World  there  belong 

Bryant,  Whittier,  Longfellow, 
Grand  Triumvirate  of  Song. 

Holland,  too,  whose  bell  of  silver 

Tolled  life's  epic,  "Bitter  Sweet." 
Loved  of  earth  and  loved  of  Heaven, 

Aureoles  for  these  are  meet. 


36  VIOLETS,  EARLY  A\I>   LATE. 

"  When  a  blow  was  struck  for  Freedom," 

When  our  sky  was  overcast, 

Lowell's  crisis-words  were  drumbeats, 

Loudly  rang  his  clarion  blast. 

In  the  symphonies  of  poets 

Time  would  fail  me  to  rehearse 

All  the  robins,  finches,  thrushes 
Heard  in  cadences  of  verse. 

Sometimes  fell  amid  the  pauses 
Of  the  older  nightingales. 

Sudden  gush  of  limpid  pathos, 

Deep  as  when  the  north  wind  wails. 

Sweet  as  breath  of  tuberoses ; 

(Love,  thou  wert  too  sweet  to  die), — 
Then  with  trills  and  thrilling  close-, 

Sudden  ceased,  and  ceased  for  aye  ! 

Conway,  Work,  H.  II., — they  perished, 
When  their  sun  of  fame  was  high. 

Shrined  in  hearts,  they  will  be  cherished 
With  the  names  not  soon  to  die. 


So  I  dream,  amid  the  gloaming, 

Of  Arcadia  come  again, 
When  the  tuneful  Nine  went  roaming. 

And  the  gods  conversed  with  men  ! 


'e    I3on'b    f^orgeb   YOU,    Darlipg, 


WE  don't  forget  you,  darling, 
Though  many  months  have  flown, 
And  the  turf  upon  your  little  grave 

Has  green  and  grassy  grown. 
The  earth  has  still  its  summer  grace, 

And  crowds  move  thoughtless  on  ; 
But  O  we  long  for  your  winsome  face, — 
Our  dewy  rose  unblown  ! 

Men  dream  it  oft  a  trifling  wo 

When  a  young  infant  dies ; 
But  countless  weeping  Rachels  know 

The  soul's  deep  agonies. 
Torn  from  the  trusting  babe  that  lay 

Long  nestled  near  the  heart, 
Life  ever  has  a  vacancy 

Unfilled  by  human  art ! 

We  don't  forget  you,  darling — 

O  no,  we  still  are  true 
Each  frail  memento  is  most  dear 

That  once  was  linked  with  you. 
At  night,  in  dreaming  slumbers  bound, 

You  are  again  our  own, — 
Again  our  arms  entwine  you  'round, — 

We  wake,  to  mourn  alone 

[37] 


38  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Through  thee  all  children  seem  more  fair. 

Sweet  sound  their  tripping  feet  — 
Their  birdlike  voices  on  the  air — 

Light  laughter  in  the  street. 
God  has  ordained  that  evermore 

Love  makes  the  world  akin ! 
One  babe  unlocks  the  heart's  wide  door, 

That  all  may  enter  in! 

We  don't  forget  you,  darling, 

Safe  in  the  Lovely  Land ; 
Perhaps  a  crown  is  on  your  brow, 

A  harp  within  your  hand. 
We  long  again  to  greet  you, 

When  earthly  toils  are  done. 
O  bliss  untold,  to  meet  you ! 

O  joy,  when  Heaven  is  won ! 

Till  then  we'll  ever  meekly  strive 

Our  duties  to  fulfill; 
Teaching  the  erring  how  to   live, 

Loving  our  Father's  will. 
But  we  won't  forget  you,  darling, 

Though  far  hence  we  rove. 
You  still  will  be  our  polar  star, 

Pointing  to  realms  above. 


©up 


A  MOTHER  took  the  fragile  toy, 
Too  rich  and  rare  for  infant  hands, 
And  kept  it  for  her  darling  boy, 

Where,  though  unseen,  secure  it  stands. 

Unconscious  thus  that  love  was  shown, 
The  grieving  infant  wept  in  pain, 

Nor  knew  when  old  and  wiser  grown 
He  should  receive  his  own  again. 

God,  like  a  careful  mother,  takes 

A  treasured  jewel  of  the  heart — 

A  babe,  a  wife,  whose  presence  makes 
The  mighty  tides  of  feeling  start. 

And  we,  like  children,  murmur  sore 

When  yielding  up  each  precious  gem ; 

Nor  think  to  find,  when  years  are  o'er, 
Each  link  safe  in  God's  diadem ! 


[39] 


liitfes    bhiab    ai^e    Poerrjs, 

SWEET  Poesy!   thou  gift  divine, 
Twin  sister  unto  Song ! 
Love's  priceless  legacy  to  man ! 
An  angel  'mid  earth's  throng! 

Favored  are  they  who  know  thy  spell, 
And  wield  thy  magic  wand. 

A  thousand  hearts  with  rapture  thrill, 
Touched  by  their  magic  hand. 

Yet  other  souls  unknown  to  Fame 
Have  caught  the  immortal  spark. 

They  wear  no  Poet's  honored  name : 
They  carve  no  shining  mark. 

Theirs  is  the  long  and  weary  night 
Of  sorrow  and  of  care ; 

Keeping  the  homelight  warm  and  bright- 
No  time  to  string  the  lyre. 

Then  deem  not  that  with  those  alone 

A  poet's  spirit  dwells, 
Whose  touch  awakes  the  slumbering  tom> 

From  Music's  thousand  cells. 

For  other  hearts  are  fraught  will)  song, 
Though  heard  by  mortals  m-vt T. 

Life's  Poem  they  write  out  in  Deeds 
Of  love  and  goodness  ever ! 
[40] 


I. 

ONLY  a  little  posy-knot, 
Yet  long  't  will  treasured  be, 
The  first  my  sprightly  laddie  brought, 

And  smiling  gave  to  me! 
lie  is  a  bearded  man  today, 

And  has  his  nestlings  three; 
But  still  I  see  with  this  boquet 
My  Boy — that  used  to  be. 

II. 

Only  a  faded,  fragrant  bloom, 

Recalling  orange  grove, 
Again  I  bask  in  sweet  perfume, — 

Again  by  foothills  rove : 
Or  ride  beside  the  sunset  sea, 

Where  light  waves  kiss  the  shore, 
Or  float  on  ocean  flowing  free, 

And  view  the  old  scenes  o'er. 

III. 

Only  a  faded  leaf  and  flower, 

That  with  my  dead  have  lain, 

Mementoes  of  a  tender  hour 
That  ne'er  will  come  again. 

O  baby  hands !    O  snowy  brow ! 
O  sunny  rings  of  hair! 
[41] 


42  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Too  beautiful  for  death  wert  thou; — 
Now,  thou  art  angel  fair. 

IV. 

Only  some  English  violets, 

That  caught  the  sunshine's  gold, 
And  paid  in  wondrous  sweets  the  debt, — 

These  bring  the  dream  of  old ; 
The  tender  days  whose  speech  is  dumb; 

Such  hours  of  pleasure-pain 
As  some  have  wished  had  never  come — 

Or  else  were  here  again ! 

V. 

Only  some  letters  tied  with  blue, 

And  yellow  now  with  years  ; 
Once  christened  with  the  honeydew 

Of  kisses  and  of  tears. 
The  lines  still  seem  electric  life, 

As  in  the  days  of  yore ; 
The  rapture  that  is  felt  but  once, — 

Alas !   if  e'er  't  is  o'er ! 


Psalrp    of    I3ogsbai?    Days, 


The  poets  string  the  lyre  to  sing 
The  tender  beauty  of  the  Spring,— 
The  splendid  grace  of  Autumn's  face, — 
Who  sings  the  Fsalm  of  Dogstar  Days  V 


SUMMER'S  scorching  heats  have  come. 
Springtime's  singing-birds  are  dumb. 
Snowy  lily,  rare-red  rose 
Perfumed  sweets  no  more  disclose. 
Droop  we  in  the  shady  bower, 
For  the  Dogstar  rules  the  hour. 

Through  the  glowing  heavens  higher 
Rides  the  Sungod's  car  of  fire. 
From  his  eyes  shoot  burning  glances, 
Bannered  hosts  of  gleaming  lances. 
Tipped  with  flame,  that  burn  their  way 
All  the  sweltering  Dogstar  Day. 

Not  a  moment's  cooling  breeze  ! 
Not  a  leaf  stirs  in  the  trees ! 
Nature  seems  to  make  a  pause ; 
E'en  the  hours  forget  their  laws, 
Dragging  leaden-weighted  feet, 
Hours  that  erst  were  light  and  fleet. 

Fainting,  gasping,  nigh  to  death, 
Cry  we  for  one  cooling  breath. 
[43] 


44  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Blow  from  Northern  snows,  O  gale, — 
Touch  electric  !   thee  we  hail 
Kinder  friend  than  tyrant-lover, 
Whose  hot  kisses  burn  us  over. 


Soul !   O  soul !   art  thou  aweary 

Of  the  fever-heat  of  life  ? 
Fainting  with  the  endless  struggle? 

Bruised  with  the  needless  strife  ? 
In  thy  secret  depths  dost  moan 
'  True  hearts  dead,  and  false  ones  flown  ?  ' 

In  thy  zodiac  of  duty 

Rains  the  Dogstar's  baleful  fire? 
From  thy  rosebush  fall  the  roses? 

From  thy  nerveless  hand  the  lyre ''. 
Pantest  thou  for  breath  divine, 
Re-inspiring  life  of  thine  ? 

Deem  not  strange  the  allotted  ways. 
Whitest  souls  have  saddest  days. 
All  thou  feelest  is  the  heat, 

Thee  to  shape  in  beauty's  mold. 
Lo !   yon  emerald  sea  of  wheat 

Dogdays  ripe  to  sea  of  gold ! 

Everywhere  one  law  controls 
Realm  of  sense  and  realm  of  souls. 
Had  there  been  no  blaze  of  sun, 
Harvest-plenty  there  were  none. 
Patience !    after  blinding  light 
Comes  the  cool  and  pleasant  night. 
August  1,  1885,  mercury  98  degrees  in  the 


Wlpab    blpe    Deft/drop    Told 


0  TWINKLING  little  Dewdrop, 
Slumbering  in  the  rose, 
Broidering  as  with  jewels 
Every  leaf  that  grows, 

What  can  a  thing  so  tiny 

Do  for  the  world  that 's  good, 
Compared  with  flashing  fountains 

Or  the  thundering  flood  ? 

Think  of  the  deep,  broad  river, 
Where  gallant  navies  ride ! 
Behold  the  sweep  of  ocean ! 
Pray,  what  are  you  beside? 

Then  in  the  purple  gloaming 
The  answer  met  my  ear, 

Sweet  as  a  bell  of  silver 

Tingling  in  crystal  sphere. 

'  The  tender,  all-wise  Father 

Maketh  both  great  and  small , 
Each  has  a  heaven-born  mission, 
A  love-work  is  for  all. 

'  I  and  my  myriad  sisters 

Are  Nature's  nursing-band; 
[45] 


46  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

And  with  unceasing  service 

Through  the  long  night  wi-  stand. 

'  The  face  of  earth  aweary 

With  healing  kiss  we  press, 
And  all  things  faint  and  drooping 
Our  silent  presence  bless. 

'  I  brood  all  night  with  flowers, 

Bathing  their  violet  eyes. 
Cooling  their  cheeks'  red  satin, 
Deep'ning  their  gorgeous  dyrs. 

'  The  stars  watch  in  their  marches 

Our  footprints  o'er  the  green; 
Only  the  daydawn's  splendor 
Shows  man  where  we  have 

'T  was  still ;   the  f ull-orb'd  sunrise 
With  amber  glory  shone. 

The  air  with  life  grew  ringing, 
The  dew  exhaled  and  gone. 

Long  mused  I  on  its  lesson: 

Call  nothing  mean  o>  small. 

Fulfill  thy  lot,  though  lowly, 
For  God  hath  use  for  all. 


RorpcmGe    of   a     Flute, 


'"THE  moon  is  scudding  through  the  sky 
1      All  in  a  boat  of  white, 
And  making  in  her  starry  wake 
A  firmament  of  light. 

A  flood  of  splendor  bathes  the  world, 
And  shimmers  through  the  trees, 

And  music's  silver  cadences 

Come  floating  on  the  breeze. 

Beside  my  open  casement  low 

I  watch  the  crimson  bars 
Of  sunset  fade  to  pearly  gray, 

And  wait  the  shining  stars ; 

And  see  the  landscape  fill  with  light 

Bewilderingly  fair, 
As  if  some  wondrous  \vitchery 

Were  in  the  evening  air. 

Come  sit  beside  me,  darling  boy, 
And  lay  your  palm  in  mine, 

And  hear  the  lovely  music  float 
Upon  the  sweet  moonshine, — 

And  as  you  drink  the  beauty  of 
The  silent  evening  hour, 
[47] 


VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Your  eyes  shall  speak  the  language  that 
Your  lips  have  not  the  power. 

Ah !   now  those  orbs  grow  eloquent ! 

Yet  eyes  as  bright  I  knew 
In  other  moonlights  long  ago — 

That  seemed  to  pierce  me  through, — 

In  moonlights  radiant  as  this, 

When  earth  like  Eden  lay, 
One  made  the  night  enchanted  with 

A  Flute  he  used  to  play. 

Hark!  .  .  there's  the  very  strain  he  bn-athcd,- 

A  plaintive,  melting  air, — 
'T  is  like  a  wounded  heart's  appeal, 

A  lover's  pleading  prayer. 

I  wrote  a  tender  ballad  once, 

To  give  the  theme  a  tongue : 
A  benediction  and  farewell — 

The  saddest  ever  sung. 

Like  martial  music  now  it  peals  ' 

Anon,  like  sighing  gales, 
It  winds  a  requiem  for  the  brave 

Whose  fate  the  Flute  bewails. 

I  've  heard  far  finer  harmonies, 

And  played  by  master  hands ; 
But  naught  that  stirred  me  like  that  lay 

In  other  days  and  lands. 

But  mother  mine,  the  dark-eyed  One, 
O  who  and  where  is  he?' 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  FLUTE  49 

I  know  not  where.     You  touch  the  red 
Rose-heart  of  mystery. 

'T  was  best  we  said  Goodbye  for  aye, 

Though  he  was  brave  and  true; 
T  have  no  woman's  weak  regrets. 

I  've  much  to  love — and  you. 

% 
Yet  when  that  strain  is  played  again 

In  moonlights  clear  as  this, 
I  feel  a  thrill  steal  o'er  me  still, — 

Words  cannot  all  express. 

Ah !   now  it  comes  adown  the  wind, 

It  rises  sweet  and  clear, 
In  liquid  tones,  that  sink  to  moans, 

And  die  upon  the  ear. 

Behind  a  cloud,  as  in  a  shroud, 

The  moon  pales  in  affright; 
The  hour  grows  wild — we  '11  kiss,  sweet  child, — 

Speak  low,  and  bid  Good-night! 


Expecbabiop, 


[Many  years  ago,  my  grandmother  had  a  son  who  sailed  for  the  Wr>t 
Indies.  The  ship  put  in  for  repairs  at  Cape  llatteras,  left  port,  and  \vas 
nevermore  heard  from.  The  fate  of  the  young  man  remained  a  mystery. 
though,  doubtless,  he,  with  all  on  board,  was  engulfed  in  the  sea.  Yet 
long  years  after,  my  grandmother,  with  a  mother'*  undying  love,  would 
look  from  her  window  for  his  possible  return.] 

A  MOTHER  sat  by  the  window, 
With  heart  o'erburdened  and  sore, 
While  the  purple  tide  came  moaning  in, 
And  broke  on  the  craggy  shore. 

In  the  silent,  glimmering  twilight 

The  white-winded  ships  went  by. 
She  tearfully  mused  on  her  darling  boy, — 

O  where  did  he  linger,  and  why? 

He  had  gone  in  his  glorious  manhood, 

With  youth's  unshadowed  glee, 
His  mother's  blessing  on  his  ear, 

On  the  smiling,  treacherous  si  a. 

Wild  music  rang  in  the  thicket, 

And  pearls  with  roses  were  lain ; 
And  the  sky  was  aglow  in  the  Long  Ago, 

When  he  sailed  on  the  shimmering  main. 

Ten  laggard  years  went  over, 

Yet  came  he  nevermore; 
But  still  she  harks  for  his  footfall  sweet 

To  ring  on  the  old  manse  floor. 
[50] 


EXPECTATION.  51 

O  where  is  that  noble  brow  lying, 

Those  clustering  curls  of  hair, 
Those  soulful  eyes,  and  that  manly  form, — 

'Mid  reefs  of  wet  coral,  is 't  there  ? 

Was  it  for  this  she  had  borne  him, 

Her  heart's  most  affluent  dower? 
The  fruit  of  fervid  affection's  past, 

Love  bursting  into  flower? 

What  dreams  her  fancy  had  painted 

When  the  babe  lay  in  cradled  repose, 

Of  him  as  the  sun  of  her  happy  life, 
And  the  evening  star  of  its  close ! 

Perhaps  a  mariner  shipwrecked 

He  lives  on  a  foreign  shore, 
And  by  those  fond  maternal  arms 

May  be  tenderly  clasped  once  more. 

Thus  by  the  old  manse  window 

She  keepeth  love's  vigil  vain, — 
For  many  a  year  may  come  and  go, 

But  he  ne'er  will  return  again. 

We,  too,  are  watchers  expectant 

Upon  life's  seagirt  beach. 
Like  apples  of  Tantalus,  some  sweet  joys 

Will  ever  elude  our  reach. 

Some  plans  of  our  life  will  be  thwarted, 
Some  ties  that  are  dearest  be  riven,. 

Till  chastened  we  look  for  perfect  bliss 
In  Heaven- — alone  in  Heaven ! 


Eues    oF    Blue 

•^J  L 


I. 

EYES  of  black  or  brown  may  sparkle, 
Laughing  or  with  tender  light, 
Eloquent  with  mighty  passion, 
Or  mysterious  as  the  Night — 
Wild  and  wildering  as  the  Night. 

II. 

Brilliant  hazel  orbs  entrance  us, 
Hold  us  with  a  mystic  spell. 

All  the  heroes  of  romances 

With  dark  eyes  their  love-tales  tell- 
Use  their  killing  glances  well. 

III. 

Black  eyes  oft,  like  darkened  windows, 
Baffle  when  we  look  within , 

Hide  the  thought  in  secret  chambers, 
Lock  the  door  and  give  no  sign — 
Speak  no  tongue  and  soulless  shine. 

IV. 
Eyes  of  gray  belong  to  genius, 

Strong  of  purpose,  clear  of  thought. 
Piercing  dark  eyes,  eyes  that  haunt  us, 
JVIay  be  fickle — trust  them  not. 
Ere  they  fool  thee,  spurn  the  spot. 
[52  | 


EYES  OF  BLUE.  53 


V. 

Blue  eyes  are  the  ones  for  feeling; 

Blue  eyes  are  the  ones  for  truth. 
Constant  ever,  roaming  never, 

Faithful  to  the  dream  of  youth; 

Welling  o'er  with  generous  ruth. 


of   blpe    (Morris. 


[Written  in  loving  remembrance  of  the  noble  men  and  women  of  our 
country  who  have  given  the  writer  entertainment  and  succor  in  her  many 
years  of  lecture-work  in  the  sacred  cause  of  Temperance.] 

I. 

I  HAVE  seen  them!     I  have  seen  them 
Minister  in  many  homes, 
From  the  land  of  Pilgrim  memories 

To  Francisco's  stately  domes. 
Some  were  by  the  Eastern  seaboard, 

Some  were  in  the  land  of  Penn; 
Hosts  were  in  the  cornclad  prairies, 

Many  on  the  Western  plain ; 
In  the  Rockies,  in  the  plateaus, 

In  the  stirring  mining-camps; 


54  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Past  where  tall  and  snow-kissed  mountains 
Glistened  like  electric  lamps; 

'.Mid  the  groves  of  golden  orange, — 
"NY here  old  Ocean   laps  the  shore, — 

Everywhere  I  found  God's  angels, 
And  I  bless  them  o'er  and  o'er. 

II. 

Everywhere  they  bade  me  welcome, 

Clasped  my  hand  and  drew  mi>  in ; 
Oft  refreshed  with  royal  bounty, 

Till  my  call  was  '  On  ! '   again. 
True,  no  aureole  revealed  them, 

Snowy  pinions  there  were  none. 
They  were  pure  and  gentle  women ; 

They  were  stalwart,  noble  men ! 
But  they  guarded  little  children, 

Ministered  at  hearth  and  home, 
Stayed  up  hands  of  Temperance  herald, 

Sought  to  win  the  feet  that  roam; 
And  'gainst  Bacchus  and  Gambrinus 

Waged  a  just  and  holy  war; 
Leading  in  the  thick  of  battle, 

Like  brave  Henry  of  Navarre! 

III. 

Clear  I  traced  their  highborn  lineage, 
Children  of  the  Heavenly  King, 

And  I  felt  them  household  angels, 
Pluming  then  the  snowy  wing. 

Oft,  while  up  the  crumbling  stainvay 

Of  the  years  I've  climbed  since  then, 

Memory's  corridors   were  ringing 


ANGELS  OF  THE  HOME.  55 

With  their  kindly  steps  again. 
Oft  their  presence  flits  before  me, 

With  some  generous  deed  or  word, 
And  by  tender  recollections 

Deep  my  grateful  soul  it*  stirred  : 
And  I  pray  the  blessed  Father, 

Who  doth  note  the  sparrow's  fall, 
To  repay  each  noble  action, 

And  safe  Home  to  guide  them  all. 

IV. 

O  thou  great  and  grand !   my  country ! 

Ever  be  such  homes  thy  own; 
Multiply  as  stars  of  heaven, — 

Be  thy  firm  foundation  stone. 
Homes  of  virtue,  homes  of  freedom, — 

Where  Love's  sacred  incense  burns, 
Where  Religion  builds  her  altar, 

Here  the  patriot  hopeful  turns. 
For  a  people's  best  protection 

Is  the  hearth  where  true  hearts  dwell. 
They  are  more  than  standing  army, 

Arsenal  or  moated  wall. 
And  where  Church  and  Home  and  SchooTjouse 

Face  the  enemy's  attack, 
Let  the  haughty  tyrant  tremble ! 

Let  him  send  his  minions  back ! 


Lyric, 

Tune—"  The  inoon  is  beaming  o'er  the  lake." 


I. 

TTARK!   hark!   what  pealing  anthems  ring 
L 1     From  mountain  unto  main  ? 
Columbia's  sons  are  marshaling 
To  free  the  land  again! 
Refrain. — O  comrades,  shout  the  chorus  out, 

Chorus  rolling  grand  and  free! 
O  Temperance'  starry  flag  stream  out ! 

Lead  on  to  victory  ! 
At  Temperance'  call  we're  rallying  all, 

United  heart  and  hand, 
And  this  our  battle-cry,  "  For  God, 
And  Home,  and  Native  Land." 

II. 

Our  cause  is  just,  succeed  we  must, — 

Rum's  legions  soon  will  quail. 
Their  impious  host  will  bite,  the  dust, — 

Heaven  will  not  let  us  fail. 

Refrain. — O  comrades,  shout,  etc. 

m. 

We  '11  rout  base  men  from  seats  of  power, 
We  '11  shield  our  homes  from  stain. 

We  '11  guard  what  we  have  won  in  war, 
And  all  men's  rights  maintain, 
[56] 


A  TEMPERANCE  LYRIC.  ,  57 

O  comrades,  shout  the  chorus  out, 

Chorus  rolling  grand  and  free. 
Oh,  Temperance'  starry  flag  stream  out! 

Lead  on  to  victory ! 
At  Temperance'  call  we  are  rallying  all, 

United  heart  and  hand, 
And  this  our  battle-cry,  "For  God, 

And  Home  and  Native  Land." 


Refraip, 

To  the  "  Song  of  a  Thousand  Years." 


"TD  ING  out  thy  bells,  my  own  Columbia ! 
•L*     Flash  forth  thy  signal  new  unfurl'd, — 
Glorious  flag  of  Prohibition ! 

Banner  of  Freedom  for  all  the  world ! 


THE  crisis  is  here  and  the  issue  is  cli-ar. 
Will  you  vote  for  rum  license  and  legalized  ruin, 
Or  vote  for  your  HOMES  and  vote  as  you  PRAY? 

Shall  we  barter  the  Boy  for  the  gold  of  the  dramshop 
No,  never !   I  say.     Home  protection  alway ! 
One  ballot — just  one — may  win  us  the  day! 

So  I  solemnly  ask,  O  Christian,  O  voter, 
"  Which  way  is  your  musket  a-pointin'  today  ?  " 


Oblpep   Side, 


I. 

jrpWAS  quickly  done!     A  low-voiced  talk 

_L      To  ears  that  drank  undoubting  in! 
Henceforth  with  dimmer  fame  must  walk 
One  who  was  pure  within. 
[58] 


THE  OTHER  SIDE.  59 

II. 

'T  was  quickly  done !     A  letter  flew, 

Bearing  a  soon-penned  tale  afar: 
Unquestioned,  were  it  false  or  true? 

'T  was  poison  in  the  air ! 

III. 

On  careless  tongues  the  story  grew. 

Malignance  helped  to  spread  it  wide. 
Of  all  those  whisperers  scarce  one  knew 

Or  asked  the  Other  Side  ! 

IV. 

The  Other  Side !     Oh,  had  they  known 

The  simple  truth  from  first  to  last, 
Mayhap  their  hearts  had  round  her  grown 

And  fondly  held  her  fast ! 

V. 

Misjudg'd,  misunderstood ;    and  so 

Sharply  misstated.     This  was  all. 
O  gentle  women !   where  the  robes 

Your  charity  lets  fall? 

VI. 

Had  ye  but  asked  her,  '  How  is  this  ? ' 

Told  her  the  tale  ye  told  elsewhere, 
Ye  would  have  seen  she  walked  in  white, 

Ye  would  have  found  her  heart  sincere. 

VII. 

Unjust,  if  well-wrought  work  of  years 

Weigh  naught  against  unchallenged  breath. 


60  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

And  can  suspicion's  dart  pursue 
An  honest  soul  till  death? 

VIII. 

Suspend  your  judgments.     Ye  may  need 
That  others  wait  ere  they  decide. 

The  grace  you  hope  for,  give.    Take  heed! 
There  is  Another  Side. 


Good    Tirpes, 


WE  dream  of  the  By-and-by, 
When  the  children  older  be, 
When  our  ships  in  the  harbor  lie, 

Now  rocking  in  far-off  sea; 
When  our  schemings  have  well  matured, 

When  the  new  house  we  are  in ; 
When  fortune  and  fame  are  assured, — 
Then  our  GOOD  TIMES  will  begin. 

Today  is  hurry  and  toil; 

Scarce  time  for  carol  and  prayer; 
We  labor  by  midnight  oil, 

Till  our  brows  are  furrowed  with  care. 
And  sometimes  the  petulant  word 

Or  the  quick  retort  of  sin 
Our  nearest  and  loved  have  heard, 

And  we  fail  their  hearts  to  win. 

We  mean  in  the  By-and-by, 

When  our  Good  Times  shall  have  come, 
That  Love  shall  illume  the  eye, 

And  Wisdom  direct  our  home. 
We  will  give  to  the  poor  a  token, 

We  will  visit  and  cheer  the  ill. 
When,  sudden,  our  thread  is.  broken ! 

And  the  loom  of  our  life  is  still! 
[61] 


62  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Oh!   alas!  for  the  hearts  not  cherished! 

Alas,  for  the  good  not  done! 
Poor  dreamers  we  were,  who  perished 

Ere  the  promised  goal  was  won. 
O  trust  to  no  doubtful  future, 

Nor  live  so  fast,  I  pray. 
By  kindness  and  meek  forbearance 

Make  Good  Times  of  Today! 

Oh,  't  is  not  from  wealth  or  leisure 

That  good  times  chiefly  come. 
The  sunny  heart  is  a  treasure, 

And  maketh  around  it  a  home. 
Defer  not  thy  good  till  tomorrow; 

Exhale  a  sweet  spirit  today, — 
No  need  from  the  future  to  borrow, — 

Thy  Good  Times  shall  be  alway! 


Almost 


it  be  that  tomorrow,  or  perhaps  today, 
\J     I  shall  cease  from  sorrow  and  pass  away  ? 
From  the  burning  fever,  from  racking  pain, 
To  wake  o'er  the  River — to  sweet  rest  again ! 

Have  the  sands  in  my  hourglass  to  emptiness  run  ? 
Is  the  web  of  my  life-work  woven  and  done  ? 
From  doubting  and  fearing,  from  sighing  and  tears, 
Can  it  be  I  am  nearing  the  shadowless  years  ? 

From  haste  and  from  labor,  from  passion  and  strife, 
How  sweet  to  enter  where  love  is  life ! 
Where  words  are  all  tender,  where  hearts  are  all  true, 
Where  the  long  rent  asunder  each  fondly  shall  view ! 

I  have  known  both  summer  and  wintry  days. 
I  do  not  murmur,  but  give  God  praise. 
Not  dark  nor  all  dreary  the  way  I  have  come, 
Yet,  Lord,  I  am  weary.     Am  I  almost  home  ? 


*  Not  yet,  O  my  child.'     (Sweet,  sweet  was  the  voice.) 
'  A  mission  is  thine  on  the  earth.     Rejoice ! 

The  crucible's  heat  was  thy  gold  to  refine. 

Now  gather  me  pearls  from  the  deep-sea  brine  ! 

4  Fear  not.     I  will  help  thee.     Each  life  is  a  plan. 
Some  day  'twill  appear  how  my  love  through  it  ran; 
How  tears  turned  to  jewels :   how  tangles  of  gold 
And  scarlet  were  roses,  when  th'  pattern  's  unrolled.' 

[68] 


I. 

Flowers!   they  are  an  alphabet 
JL      Of  Beauty  writ  by  God  ; 
In  field  and  wood  and  valley  set, 

And  by  the  dusty  road, 
That  lord  and  lady,  rich  and  poor, 

And  tawny  rover  wild 
May  read  the  lovely  lesson  o'er, 
With  every  little  child. 

II. 

The  Flowers  are  gracious  thoughts  from  God 

To  tender  woman  sent. 
By  couch  of  pain,  'neath  coffin-lid, 

Their  voice  is  eloquent. 
They  bid  despairing  hearts  look  up, 

To  losses  reconciled ; 
For  He  who  tints  the  floweret's  cup 

Cannot  forsake  His  child. 

III. 

The  Flowers  are  fairies  on  the  lea. 

The  violet  is  meek; 
The  lily  white  is  purity; 

The  rose  hath  love's  own  cheek. 
The  sunflower  turns  about  her  face, 

But  ever  seeks  her  god : 
[64] 


THE  FLOWERS.  65 

The  purple  asters  bend  with  grace 
To  greet  the  golden-rod. 

IV. 

The  Flowers  are  subtle  poetry, 

God  writes  upon  the  meads; 
And  he  is  wise  who  rev'rently 

The  Master-poem  reads. 
The  flowery  balm  is  like  the  psalm 

Of  holy,  well-spent  hours. 
Oh,  earth  were  robbed  of  wondrous  grace 

Were  there  no  flowers,  sweet  flowers. 

V. 

When  bird  and  bee  go  forth  to  woo 

Amid  the  fragrant  dells, 
The  Flowerets  offer  cups  of  dew, 

They  're  such  cold-water  bell(e)s. 
And  when  the  sunsc-t  flag  unfurls, 

And  crimsons  all  the  west, 
The  blossoms  deck  themselves  with  pearls, 

And  are  with  glory  drest. 


IN  Nature's  face  I  love  to  look 
And  trace,  as  in  an  open  book, 

From  starry  orb  to  flower -gemmed  sod, 

The  worthy  tokens  of  a  God. 
Who  formed  for  joy  each  living  thing 
That  swims  the  sea,  that  soars  on  wing, — 

Who  paints  the  dawn,  the  sunset's  gold, 
Who  formed  for  sight  th'  admiring  eye, — 

Who  fills  with  life  the  field,  the  wold, 
Who  guides  the  birds  that  southward  fly, — 

Whose  every  work  is  perfect  found, — 

Who  meted  out  creation's  bound ; 
Who  in  their  orbits  holds  the  sphero  , 

Who  bids  the  varying  seasons  move; 
Whose  harvest  plenty  crowns  the  years, — 

Is  surely  Wisdom,  Truth  and  Love ! 
His  tenderest  care  for  Man  shall  be 
Man  imaged  like  to  Deity. 

Believe, — His  every  law  is  still 

A  father's,  not  a  despot's,  will. 

Obedience  assures  thy  weal. 
But  who  the  ways  of  God  refuse 
Their  own  unhappiness  do  choosr. 

My  King!   Thou  art  so  kind  and  good, 

I  mourn  my  willful,  wayward  mood. 
O  sheltering  Ark !   from  seas  of  sin 
Take  a  repenting  wanderer  in ! 
[66] 


losses    of   Bright 


I. 

OTHE  moss,  this  beautiful  moss  ! 
Relic  of  land  of  the  Chinee  and  Joss ! 
It  grew  in  the  vale  by  the  sunset  sea; 
It  festooned  the  boughs  of  a  live-oak  tree. 
Pendulous, 

Swinging, 

Graceful  it  fell, 

Like  the  filmy  mesh  of  a  lady's  veil. 
It  brings  back  a  rare  and  a  radiant  day, 
When,  after  a  sail  o'er  the  smooth,  bright  Bay, 
Through  foothills  to  GEYSERS  I  took  my  way. 
Oh,  gay  as  a  garden  the  long  valley  lay. 

II. 

Sweet  springtime  and  beauty  were  weaving  their  spells. 

What  a  blaze  of  wild  flowers !   what  soft  green  in  dells ! 

The  live-oaks  wore  garlands  of  mosses  as  fair 

As  are  wrought  by  the  hand,  with  a  lacemaker's  care. 

Springing, 

Galloping, 

Flying  around 

The  mountain's  steep  edge,  our  steeds  spurned  the  ground. 
A  failing  bolt  or  a  frightened  leap 
Had  launched  us  over  the  awful  steep. 

Our  angels  guarded  from  harm  and  loss. 
Our  guide  drew  rein  by  a  moss-hung  tree, 

[67] 


68  VIOLETS,  EARLY  A\I>    LATE. 

And  a  snap  of  bis  whip  brought  down  to  me 
This  ciirious,  beautiful,  treasured  moss. 

III. 

Southward  we  turn,  the  Coast  Range  cross. 

Observe  this  delicate  Monterey  moss. 

Yonder  sits  Monterey,  bride  of  the  sea, 

With  the  rime  of  the  years  where  the  cypress  be. 

Draping, 

Drooping, 

Clinging,  the  green 

Of  the  fringing  moss  in  low  woods  is  seen. 
Again  on  its  wisp  are  memories  strung, 
Of  the  May  when  I  roamed  its  old  haunts  among; 
Of  the  picnic  we  held  in  the  balm-dropping  woods; 
Of  the  voices  that  rang  in  the  charmed  solitudes, 
Where,  centuries  gone,  the  Spaniard  and  Brave 
Had  heard,  as  I  heard,  the  low-breaking  wave. 

IV. 

Oh,  this  odorous,  gold-green  moss 

The  giants  of  Mariposa  wear; 
Those  ancient  redwood  kings  that  toss 

Their  boughs  three  hundred  feet  in  air. 
Odorous, 

Emerald, 

Brilliant,  see 

A  moss  that  has  dwelt  in  high  company. 
Gathered  from  cedars  that  were  not  young 
When  Shakspeare  played,  when  Dante  sung; 

Anear  Yosemite's  wondrous  vale. 
What  mighty  secrets  they  could  tell 
Of  changes  which  that  coast  befell ; 


MOSSES  OF  BRIGHT  MEMORIES.  69 

Those  monarchs  o'er  whose  stately  head 
Eight  solemn  centuries  have  sped ! 

V. 

Oh,  this  beautiful,  trailing  moss, 
Pluckt  where  it  thickly  grew  across 
An  ancient  and  ancestral  grave, 
Near  where  Atlantic's  waters  rave. 
Creeping, 

Creeping, 

Night  and  Day, 

Over  the  spot  where  my  kindred  lay. 
My  mother's  mother!   twine,  sweet  vine. 
Noiseless  trail,  and  creep,  and  twine 
Over  the  dust  where  a  sweet  saint  lies. 
Guard  till  immortal  it  shall  arise ! 
Live,  like  true  love,  that  never  dies  ! 


[The  crest  of  Ashton  mentioned  below  is  the  highest  point  in  Lee 
County,  Illinois.] 

I, 

T)LEASANT  't  is  on  summer  morning, 

When  dew -diamonds  deck  the  spray, 
Slumber's  drowsy  languor  scorning, 

O'er  the  hills  to  bound  away; 
Quaff  from  spring  refreshing  nectar, 

Breathe  large  draughts  of  crystal  air; 
View  the  speaking  face  of  Nature, 

Night-refreshed,  more  charming  fair. 
Something  of  the  outer  beauty 

Steals  within  the  willing  soul. 
Something  of  the  balm  and  gladm-^ 

Makes  the  wounded  spirit  whole. 

II. 

Tis  my  favorite,  frequent  fancy, 

Ere  the  breakfast  signals  sound, 
To  the  old,  deserted  quarry 

O'er  the  hill  to  wind  my  round. 
Up  through  avenues  of  maples, 

Interlacing  arms  of  shade, 
Meeting  on  her  milky  errand, 

Pail  in  hand,  a  star-eyed  maid ; 
Up  the  emerald  billow  climbing 

Pause  on  Ashton's  lofty  crest. 
[70] 


TO  THE  OLD  STONE-QUARRY.  71 

Grand  the  prospect!     Gaze  far  northward, — 
Then  look  eastward,  south  and  west. 

III. 

Lo !   a  vast  and  fertile  valley ; 

Fields  on  fields  of  heavy  corn ; 
Mead  and  pasture,  stream  and  woodland, 

Fattening  herds  of  hoof  and  horn. 
Miles  on  miles  the  landscape  stretches, — 

Further  still  yon  ridges  blue. 
Now  look  down.     The  Old  Stone-Quarry's 

Excavation  meets  your  view. 
Deep, — deserted  !    miniature  of 

Mighty  valleys  we  have  seen. 
There  unrolls  the  living  Present, — 

Here 's  a  grave  of  What  Has  Been ! 


Deeds, 


JH"1  'IS  wisdom's  course  the  truth  to  know, — 

1      'T  is  wiser  far  the  truth  to  live. 
'T  is  kind  to  shed  the  tear  for  wo, — 
But  still  more  kind,  relief  to  give. 

Like  to  Pygmalion's  statue,  cold 

And  white  and  dead,  are  WORDS  alone,— 
DEEDS  are  as  when  the  life-tides  rolled, 

And  maiden-love  blushed  in  the  stone. 


Be    Sfcronq    in    Vir?bue    and    in    God, 
-j     /        t  / 

"The  angel  of  the  Lord  encampeth  round  about  them  that  fear  Him, 
and  delivereth  them."— Bible. 


OH,  fear  not,  though  invidious  arts 
Be  aimed  against  thee  thick  and  fast ; 
Though  Envy  hurl  her  poisoned  darts, — 

The  battle  will  not  always  last. 
The  raging  billows  yet  will  cease; 
The  sea  be  hushed  to  perfect  peace. 

Strengthen  thy  spirit  to  endure. 

Then  shall  affliction's  withered  leavi  s 
Enclose  a  rich,  a  lovely  flower, 

And  nature  smile,  while  yet  she  grievo. 
The  soul,  in  meek  submission  bowed, 
Beholds  the  rainbow  in  the  cloud. 

As  buds,  when  crushed  in  fatal  hour, 
Exhale  their  sweetest  fragrance  then, 

So  trials  of  the  spirit's  power 

Reveal  its  quenchless  founts  within. 

And  life's  dark  clouds,  that  o'er  us  fleet, 

Make  the  successive  light  more  sweet. 

And  deem  not,  if  no  answering  tone 

From  kindred  souls  responds  to  thee, 

That  no  heart  beateth  like  thine  own, 
That  no  lute  sounds  in  harmony. 
[72] 


BE  STRONG  IN  VIRTUE  AND  IN  GOD.  73 

This  wide  world  may  contain  the  strain 
Responsive  to  thine  own  again. 

Be  strong  in  virtue.     Ne'er  depart 

From  out  that  radiant  zone  of  light. 

Guard  every  action,  word  and  thought, 
Pray  God  to  keep  thee  in  the  right. 

Then  fearlessly  and  firmly  move. 

Thy  course  sublime  Heaven  will  approve. 


n 


Wipber, 


TTOW  wondrous  beautiful,  'neath  Cynthia's  light, 
1U.     The  landscape,  with  its  snowy  veil,  tonight ! 
In  bridal  vesture  robed,  Queen  Earth  appears, 
Oblivious  of  her  recent  mood  of  tears. 

On  time-browned  piles  caressing  moonbeams  rove, 
Like  maiden's  white  arms  round  some  wreck  of  love, 
The  wind  is  still,  the  scene 's  surpassing  fair. 
Tonight  is  Nature's  coronation  hour. 

Oh,  world  of  beauty !    time  of  sweetest  bliss ! 
Was  ever  moonlight  beautiful  as  this ? 
Hours  of  poetic  fancy,  as  ye  roll 
Impart  some  talisman  unto  my  soul. 


74  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Listen,  my  heart ;   the  benison  is  given ; 
It  leads  thy  raptured  thoughts  to  things  in  Heaven. 
If  so  transcendant  fair  the  world  thou  'st  trod, 
How  glorious,  then,  the  Paradise  of  God ! 


Summep   /Aoonlighb, 


T\ /TOONLIGHT  over  bright  vales  and 

1V1     Moonlight  over  the  jasmine  bowers; 

Moonlight  over  the  laborer's  head 

Moonlight  over  the  slumbering  dead. 

Moonlight  lay  on  the  shining  rill, 

Wooed  by  the  strain  of  the  nightingale. 

Moonlight  shimmered  amid  the  trees, 

And  danced  with  the  leaflets  in  the  breeze. 

On  diamonded  grass  and  crystalline  spring 

Moonlight  rested  her  gossamer  wing; 

Penciled  with  beauty  each  turret  brown, 

And  hung  her  white  flag  over  village  and  town. 

Her  silvery  sheen  in  magnificence  lay 

Where  light  waves  of  ocean  were  leaping  at  play, 

And  myriad  lamps  shone  brilliantly  there, 

For  every  bright  billow  reflectdl  a  star! 


SUMMER  MOONLIGHT.  75 

Moonlight  unfurled  her  luminous  tent 

In  the  azure  court  of  the  firmament; 

And  her  radiant  zone,  with  its  gems  of  light, 

Was  a  jeweled  crown  on  the  brow  of  night. 

So  beauteous  the  scene,  so  witching  its  power, 

It  almost  seemed,  in  that  mystical  hour, 

That  the  windows  of  Heaven  were  open  thrown, 

And  a  glimpse  of  its  glory  to  mortals  was  shown. 

The  maiden  mild  and  the  convict  of  crime 

Felt  each  the  spell  of  that  hallowed  time. 

Oh,  if  there  be  moments  when  Mercy  and  Peace 

With  balm-dropping  sandals  e'er  tread  the  green  earth, 
Bidding  the  clamors  of  Passion  to  cease 

And  saintly  affections  to  spring  to  their  birth , 
When  guardian  angels  are  hovering  round  us, 
Sundering  fetters  that  downward  have  bound  us ; 
When  the  Right  should  exert  its  holiest  power, — 
'T  is  in  sweet  summer-time,  at  the  moonlight  hour. 


rod's    W 


ay, 


in"1  IS  said  that  when  the  mother-bird 

1.      Would  teach  her  young  to  use  its  wings, 
She  bears  it,  perched  upon  her  back, 

Beyond  the  nest,  and  from  it  springs. 
The  startled  birdling  flutters  down, 

Like  windblown  leaf,  unto  the  ground. 
But  soon,  with  pinions  stronger  grown, 

Its  glorious  power  to  soar  has  found. 


So,  Lord,  from  out  the  well-loved  nest, 

Thy  providence  hath  borne  Thy  child, 
And  dropped  her  where  it  pleased  Thee  best, 

Though  weak  of  heart,  scarce  reconciled. 
And  she  hath  found,  once  and  again, 

That  thus  Thou  ledst  to  larger  things. 
The  wider  vision, — fuller  strain, — 

More  heavenward  flight  of  spirit  wings. 


[76] 


I. 

HAIL,  crystal  Water! 
Bright,  bright  and  free. 
Ho !   son  and  daughter, 

Here  's  the  draught  for  thee. 
Bubbling  in  the  foiintain, 

Singing  through  the  lea; 
Laughing  in  the  mountain, 

Booming  in  the  sea ! 
Hail,  sparkling  Water! 

Clear,  bright  and  free, — 
Ho !   son  and  daughter, 

Here's  health  for  thee. 

II. 

Hail,  blessed  Water! 

Type  of  Purity. 
Quaff,  son  and  daughter, 

From  the  fountain  free. 
Now  it  glows  a  rainbow, 

In  the  magic  sun  ; 
Now  it  sleeps  in  rose-heart, 

When  the  day  is  done. 
Hail,  blessed  Water! 

Lave  the  debauchee, — 
Smiling  son  and  daughter, 

Here  's  wealth  for  thee. 
[77] 


78  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

III. 

Pledge  with  crystal  Water! 

Speed  the  jubilee, 
When  each  son  and  daughter 

From  rum's  curse  is  free. 
Leave  the  brimming  beaker ! 

Serpents  ambush  there ! 
Leave  the  winecup's  revel,— 

'T  is  madness  and  despair! 
Hail,  crystal  Water! 

Bright,  bright  and  free. 
Ho!  son  and  daughter. 

Here 's  the  glass  for  thee ! 


IF  Penitence  and  Charity 
Be  strangers  to  thy  heart, 
Though  fair  thy  outer  life  may  be, 
Think  not  the  gates  of  pearl  for  thee 
Will  promptly  spring  apart. 

With  deep  distress  the  Publican 
Confessed  and  was  forgiven. 
The  Pharisee  was  free  from  stain, 
But,  haughty  to  a  brother-man, 
Was  not  approved  of  Heaven. 


A  PLEASANT  fire  and  an  easy  chair, 
Set  where  the  light  falls  clearly, — 
Plain,  nourishing  food,  with  converse  good, 
And  a  soft,  clean  bed  for  the  limbs  and  head,- 
These  make  Old  Age  go  cheerly. 

A  treasured  book  for  the  sunny  nook, 

Anon  the  friendly  letter ; 
The  outdoor  walk,  the  genial  talk, 
The  kindly  deed  to  a  soul  in  need, 

These  make  Old  Age  completer. 

But  Age  must  give  as  well  as  take, 

Must  bear  some  ills  serenely ; 
Must  wear  no  frown,  nor  seek  its  own, 
But  hope  and  love,  unfailing  on, 

Till  crowned  in  Heaven,  queenly. 


[79] 


Village    Bell, 

SWEETLY  peals  from  its  ivied  tower 
Yon  deep-toned  Bell,  at  the  vesper  hour. 
Lingering  echoes  seem  to  say, 
Thoughtless  spirit,  haste  and  pray  ! 
Come,  where  voices  in  praise  are  blending; 
Come,  thy  knee  in  penitence  bending. 
Life  is  flying  and  death  is  near. 
Wayworn  traveler,  worship  here. 

Mirny  a  year  that  bell  has  swung, 

And  a  thing  of  life  is  its  tireless  tongue 

Nmv  it  thrills  with  a  tender  mood, 

Anon  it  thunders  over  the  wood. 

It  calls  to  school  and  the  swarming  street, 

Rings  with  a  troop  of  pattering  feet. 

When  furious  flames  are  towering  high, 

It  sounds  the  tocsin,  and  men  fly  ! 

A  sacred  thing  is  that  old  church  bell. 

'T  is  freedom's  herald  and  slavery's  knell. 

When  the  baleful  star  of  rebellion  arose, 

And  brothers  to  brothers  grew  deadliest  foes, — 

When  the  groans  of  defeat  men  trembled  to  hear, 

Its  peans  of  triumph  rang  grandly  and  clear, 

And  deepened  and  swelled  when  tyranny's  chain 

Was  struck  from  the  necks  of  three  millions  of  men ! 

A  vision  comes  of  a  well-known  time, 
When  the  church  bell  rang  with  a  wedding  chime. 

[80] 


THE  VILLAGE  BELL.  81 

Sweet  flowers  breathed  on  the  ambient  air, 
And  the  fairest  Flower  of  all  was  there. 
There  flashed  a  glimmer  of  satin  and  lace, 
As  the  bridal  cortege  took  its  place. 
The  vow  was  breathed  and  the  twain  made  one, 
And  life  looked  bright  as  the  hues  of  the  sun. 

A  five-month  passed,  and  the  village  bell 

Mournfully  tolled  a  funeral  knell. 

O  joy  and  grief,  ye  were  quickly  allied. 

'Neath  that  sable  pall  was  the  saintly  bride! 

A  weeping  train  laid  her  tenderly  down 

To  her  dreamless  rest,  while  the  bell  tolled  on. 

And  I  think,  as  it  vibrates  so  solemn  and  slow, 

Some  day  they  will  toll  it,  and  lay  me  low. 


me, 


n~iHE  year  rolls  by.     How  ceaselessly 
1      Old  Father  Time  speeds  on ! 
In  heat,  in  cold,  by  day,  by  night, 
His  march  is  never  done. 

When  weeping  eyes  are  closed  in  sleep, 
And  hearts  forget  their  care, 

Old  Time  ascends  some  distant  steep, 
Or  treads  in  fields  of  air. 

From  whence  he  came,  or  where  lie  goes, 

No  mortal  eye  hath  seen. 
No  wavelet  of  the  trackless  air 

Reveals  where  he  has  been. 

No  rustle  of  mysterious  wings 

Betrays  his  rapid  flight, 
lint  naught  can  check  his  course  sublime, 

Through  regions  veiled  from  sight. 

No  storm-cloud  with  o'ershadowing  pall, 

No  light  of  roseate  sky, 
No  joy,  nor  grief,  nor  prayers  detain 

Yon  traveler  rushing  by. 

There  comes  a  deep,  mysterious  roar, 
As  of  a  mighty  sea, 
L82J 


OLD  FATHER  TIME.  83 

That  tells  us  Time  is  near  the  shore 
Of  vast  Eternity, 

Where  each  must  launch  a  little  barque 

Arid  sail  through  endless  years, 
Poor  children  wildered  in  the  dark, 

Beleagured  with  our  fears. 

Yet  all  we  've  felt  of  human  love, 

Or  learned  of  the  divine, 
Assures,  beyond  God's  pitying  care, 

We  cannot  cross  the  line. 

Only  the  unrepenting  still 

No  port  of  peace  shall  win; 
Self-doomed  to  hell,  the  stubborn  will 

That  still  prefers  to  sin. 

Oli,  Traveler  Time!   whose  flight  sublime 

Was  from  creation's  birth, 
Teach  me  true  wisdom,  as  I  climb 

With  thee  the  steeps  of  earth. 


Wbab    is    Lotfe  7 


I. 

QlINCE  first  the  stream  of  Time  began, 

O     When  earth  was  young, 

When  to  sweet  Eve  the  primal  man 

His  love-tale  sung, 
In  every  age,  in  every  zone, 
The  blind  and  prankish  god  has  thrown 

His  darts  the  swains  among. 
And  countless  Psyches  have  confessed 
The  pleasure-pain  that  thrilled  their  breast. 

II. 

It  comes,  the  bright,  all-conquering  flame, 

To  high,  to  low, 
To  shepherd  lad,  to  titled  name, 

Hot  blood,  and  slow. 
No  armor  doth  'gainst  Love  prevail. 
More  eloquent  the  one  old  tale 

Than  dulcet  Music's  flow. 
Its  power  the  hardest  heart  can  move. 
Yet  many  differ,  WHAT  is  LOVE  ? 

III. 

Is  it  the  spell  which  beauty  weaves 

O'er  lover's  eye  ? 
A  fever  in  young  blood,  that  leave-: 

When  time  steals  by? 
[84] 


WHAT  IS  LOVE  f  85 

The  magnetism  of  man  and  maid  ? 

Will 't  end  when  Hymen's  vows  are  said, 

Demanding  liberty  ? 
Is  't  born  of  kisses,  finger-tips, — 
Forgot  at  parting  from  the  lips  ? 

IV. 

Is  it  a  mystery  quite  apart 

From  Reason's  sphere? 
Have  noble  virtues  of  the  heart 

Small  influence  here  ? 
Are  pure  devotion,  sentiment, 
Frail  shadows  from  Love's  substance  sent, 

Not  its  best  cheer? 
Are  souls  by  true  affection  moved, 
Whose  fondest  dream  's  but  to  be  loved  ? 

V. 

Nay !     Heaven-born  love  seeks  others'  bliss, 

Not  self-attent. 
It  grows  sublime  with  sacrifice, 

A  sacrament. 

'T  will  give  its  all,  as  well  as  take- — 
Counts  labor  sweet  for  dear  ones'  sake, 

Its  largess  free,  unspent. 
Once  loved,  upon  life's  highest  plane, 
Is  loved  forever  without  wane. 


ah 


ap 


nnWINKLED  and  glowed  on  the  murky  air 
1      The  great  red  eye  of  the  inn; 
And  while  we  mused  by  the  evening  fire, 

Our  host  a  scroll  brought  in. 
Whether  'twas  dropped  by  a  lady  fair, 

Or  a  sad,  regretful  man, 
No  clue  was  there  to  the  secret  rare, 

But  thus  the  stanzas  ran : 

THE  SCROLL. 
I. 

This  letter  is  written  from  home,  Hal, — 

I  have  been  long  away. 
The  shadows  at  last  are  lengthening  fast, 

With  me  it  is  not  May. 
I  have  returned  to  the  dear  old  friends. 

And  the  old-time  haunts  as  well, 
The  campus,  the  chapel,  and  once  have  lu-ard 

The  peal  of  its  musical  bell. 

II. 

0  memories !   how  ye  come  surging  up, 

As  wave  on  wave  of  the  sea ! 

1  think  of  the  glorious  future  we  dreamed, 

And  muse  on  the  beings  we  be ! 
Back,  back  to  your  cells,  nor  fashion  your  spells 
Over  my  fancy  again  ! 
[86] 


FOUND  AT  AN  INN.  81 

Can  ye  unwrite  the  tale  of  a  life, 

And  make  me  a  glad  girl  again  ? 

III. 
This  morning  the  heavens  were  azure,  Hal, 

The  bluebirds  sang  on  the  bough. 
All  golden  the  air,  and  nature  as  fair 

As  twenty  long  summers  ago. 
My  course  I  took  over  willowy  brook 

Along  the  white-clover  blooms, 
Through  pastures  green  that  lay  between 

My  home  and  the  old  college  rooms. 

IV. 

Sure  you  will  remember  the  footpath,  Hal, 

That  led  from  the  house  on  the  hill, 
Through  thicket  with  sumac  and  maple  aflame, 

Where  the  plaint  of  the  turtle-dove  fell. 
O'er  billowy  fields  whose  broad  crown  yields 

To  a  brook  in  a  valley  of  shade, 
Along  whose  brim,  as  a  Bluebeard  grim, 

A  hoarse-throated  watchdog  bayed ! 

V. 

Near  a  little  brown  house  the  foot-trail  ran. 

There  often,  'neath  sunset  skies, 
A  maiden  passed  on ;   and  a  deep-voiced  man 

Followed  the  girl  with  his  eyes. 
They  met  each  day  in  the  old  college  hall ; 

They  studied  the  same  old  books, 
And  the  tender  inflections  of  omo  grew 

From  words  to  tenderer  looks. 


88  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

VI. 

It  all  came  back  to  my  memory,  Hal, 

Though  twenty  long  summers  ago. 
The  world  without  and  the  world  within 

Have  altered  somewhat,  I  trow. 
The  tangled  thicket 's  a  well-trimmed  grove, 

The  field  is  a  fairground  now ; 
The  tiny  green  path  is  a  deep-cut  road, 

Where  rumbling  horsecars  go. 

VII. 

The  little  brown  house  is  still  on  the  slope, 

But  the  charm  of  the  meadow  is  gone. 
The  soon-parted  twain  met  scarcely  again ; 

Their  youth  and  its  poem  are  flown. 
You  toy  with  the  curls  of  your  baby  boy,  Hal, 

The  maid  you  remember  no  more, — 
And  she  can  glance  at  a  dead  romance, 

Smile  softly,  and  say,  '  It  is  o'er ! ' 


Papbing. 


FRIEND,  fare  thee  well !   stern  Fate  doth  sever 
True  hearts  that  could  live  in  smiles  forever. 
With  pitiless,  grasp  he  wrenches  in  twain 
The  glittering  clasps  of  affection's  chain. 
He  scattereth  blossoms  from  Love's  bright  tree. 
He  severeth  friends  with  changeless  decree. 

Drops  from  one  source  may  dissevered  become. 
In  lines  diverging  their  channels  may  run. 
And  when,  O  when,  will  they  mingle  in  one? 
They  meet  in  the  ocean.     'T  is  thus  with  our  life. 
We  're  parted  by  earth's  commotion  and  strife-. 
But  oh,  may  Love's  compass  from  Jesus  be  given, 
To  guide  o'er  the  foam-capped  billows  to  Heaven, 
And  there  in  a  happier  clime  may  we  dwell. 
Till  then,  dear  heart,  fare  thee  well!   farewell! 


[89J 


Voices    of    Life, 


[For  parlor  or  Sunday-school  entertainments.     To  be  impersonated 
with  full  tableau  in  conclusion.    Has  been  successfully  used  in  Chicago.] 


I.     CHILDHOOD. 

MOSS-ROSE !   Red-rose  !   White-rose  so  fair, 
Give  me  your  sweet  buds  to  bind  in  my  hair. 
Buttercup !   Buttercup !   lend  me  thy  gold. 
Rainbow !    Rainbow !    I  would  thee  enfold. 
I  '11  speed  like  the  wind 
Thy  pillars  to  find, 

And  thy  gold  pots  to  hold. 

White  Cloud !    Snow  Cloud  !    what  hast  thou  done 
With  thy  banners  of  crimson  aflaunt  in  the  sun  ? 
Hast  sailed  with  the  angels  that  float  in  the  air? 
And  where  is  Heaven  ?     Pray,  tell  me  where. 

II.     YOUNG  MAIDENHOOD. 

Childhood  is  o'er, — a  fast  fading  shore, 
Its  joys  and  its  pastimes  can  hold  me  no  more. 
I  have  dreampt  of  Fame,  but  Fame  is  strife. 
I  have  longed  for  Wealth,  but  Love  is  Life ! 

This  hour  I  wait 

For  my  hero,  my  fate — 

And  alas!   he  is  late. 

Come  life,  come  death,  T  will  love  him  more 
Than  ever  maiden    oved  man  before! 
Come  hither  to  me,  by  the  old  elm-tree; 
The  stars  are  watching  and  winking  for  thee ! 

[90] 


FOUR  VOICES  OF  LIFE.  1JI 

While   thou  dost  delay,  the  moon  sinks  low — 
The  red  rose  faints  that  was  pluckt  for  thee  now — 
The  nightingale  stops  her  song  on  the  bough. 
O  hark !    by  that  sign  he  is  coming,  I  know. 
Yet  hide  thy  joy,  O  heart  of  mine. 
Too  quickly  won — may  quickly  pine ; 
And  he  must  be  true,  my  Man  of  men ! 

III.     MATERNITY. 

My  pretty  one,  my  precious  joy  ! 
Blessings  upon  thee,  cherub  boy. 
Thy  father  sails  the  trackless  sea, 
And  toils  afar  for  thee  and  me. 
Oh,  when  to  riper  stature  grown, 
Say,  wilt  thou   in  the  ships  be  gone? 
Nay!   nay!    in  manhood's  proud  estate, 
At  home  thou  shall  be  wise  and  great; 
This  dimpled  hand  work  well  its  part; 

This  voice  be  music  in  my  ear; 
This  eye  subdue  some  girlish  heart, 

And  beam  upon  thy  nestlings  dear. 
Sleeps !   sleeps !    my  baby  sleeps, — 
And  Love  its  sacred  vigil  keeps, 
My  dove  so  mild,  my  undefined! 
A  woman's  crown  is  her  sinless  child. 

IV.     A  GOLDEN  OLD  AGE. 

All  is  ended,  the  joy  and  the  sorrow. 
No  fire  of  life's  passions  can  kindle  my  morrow. 
All  that  were  dearest  are  parted  from  me, 
One  in  the  churchyard  and  one  in  the  sea. 
Yet  often  their  spirits  seem  round  me  still. 
We  shall  meet  some  day  in  God's  sweet  will. 


92  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

All  I  've  to  live  for  is  serving   my  race. 

All  men  are  my  brothers ;   a  sister  I  trace 

In  the  face  of  each  woman,  whatever  she  be. 

The  heart  that  has  suffered  is  nearest  to  me. 

Here's  a  hand  for  the  fallen !   for  sorrow  a  tear. 

Here  's  a  smile  for  the  happy !   for  all  I  Ve  a  prayer. 

The  One  who  never  can  fail  us,  I  know, 

Was  smitten  with  grief  and  acquainted  with  wo. 

To  Him,  O  my  sisters,  O  friends,  let  us  go. 

Thus  living  and  loving,  from  out  of  earth's  fire, 
To  the  home  of  the  soul  I  aspire !   I  aspire ! 


"Gpum^le   fllley  and    Tbapkful    Sbpeeb," 


pOME  out  of  "Grumble  Alley,"  come  into  "Thankful 
\j  Street." 

Stay  not  in  darksome  valley,  where  Gloom  and  Anger  meet. 
Sit  not  stone-blind  to  Beauty,  brooding  thy  grief  and  hate, 
But  mount  the  hills  of  Duty,  and  nobly  meet  thy  fate. 

Dost    bend  with    burdens   double  ?      True    grace   will    help 

thee  bear. 

Dost  dread  impending  trouble?  Perhaps  't  will  melt  in  air. 
Bemoanst  thy  small  resource?  Think,  sonic  ln-sidc  their 

dead 
Would  part  with  golden  purse  to  bring  back  sunny  head. 


"GRUMBLE  ALLEY  AND  THANKFUL  STREET."       93 


Bewailst  thy  single  talent  ?     Safe  thou  from  Envy's  stings ; 
From  jarring  dissonance  of  harp  of  thousand  strings. 
Is  thy  good  work  unmarked  ?   thou  slighted  and  passed  by  ? 
Just  recompense  is  sure.     One  noted  from  on  high. 

Look  out.     The  world    is   bright;   the    birds    sweet    strains 

prolong. 

Turn  from  thy  bosom's  night,  and  join  great  Nature's  song. 
Oh,  tossed  and  full-of-cares !   a  good  God  reigns  o'er  all. 
Trust    Him  who  counts  thy  hairs  and    marks  the  sparrow's 
m  fall. 

Take  up  thy  nearest  duty,  with  stout  and  hopeful  heart. 
Speak  words  of  love  and  beauty.      Uo  well  thy  lowly  part. 
Heroic  patience  rally  and  Peace  thy  t>oul  will  greet, 
And  lead  from  Grumble  Alley  to  cheery  Thankful  Street. 

If,  from  the  fields  Elysian,  we  saw  our  earthly  lot ; 
That  clearer,  juster  vision  would  still  oft-fretting  thought. 
Since  "all  things  work  together"  to  make  for  glory  meet. 
Then   welcome,  stormy  weather !      All 's  well   in   Thankful 
Street. 


The    Ghdpce 


WE  met  in  youth's  bright  springtime 
Its  'blossoms  in  our  hands ; 
Us  sunshine  in  our  laughing  eyes, 
Its  mirage  o'er  our  lands. 

We  ranged  the  field  of  letters ; 

We  gathered  fancy's  flowers. 
We  found  a  mutual  sympathy 

That  charmed  the  passing  hours. 

Such  dainty  missives  came  and  went 
As  rhyme  or  reason  sends. 

We  glanced  at  deeper  sentiment, 
And  then  we  parted — friends. 

We  drifted  long  and  far  apart. 

A  score  of  years  went  o'er. 
And  who  was  wed,  or  who  was  dead, 

We  knew  and  thought  no  more. 

Till  lately  down  this  strange,  great  town 

I  went  my  stormy  round. 
The  frost-wind  cut  like  steel  without, 

The  snow  lay  on  the  ground. 

I  sat  beside  an  office  fire. 
A  gentleman  was  there. 
[94] 


THE  DREAMER.  95 

Long-bearded,  portly,  .  -  .  an  M.  D.? 
Professor,  ...  by  his  air. 

We  passed  some  commonplace  remark  ; 

lie  went  bis  distant  way, 
And  neither  guessed  what  friends  had  met, 

And  parted,  too,  that  day ! 


D 


reamer. 


I. 

AH  !   you  picture  an  artist's  studio, — 
Hair  raven,  eyes  like  the  night, — 
You  think  of  Phidias,  Raphael,  Angelo, 
Wtth  masterful  hand  and  thought-heavy  brow. 

Ah,  no- 
You  read  not  my  riddle  aright. 

II. 

What  then  ?   some  glorious  scholar 

Toiling  in  midnight  cell  ? 
A  Radical  leaving  ancestral  halls, 
Splendors  and  titles  and  sculptured  walls  ? 
'T  were  well. 

But  simpler  the  story  I  tell. 


96  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

III. 

Not  even  a  maiden's  pure  chamber, 

Snowily,  vestally  white ; 

With  incense  of  flowers  borne  in  on  the  breeze, 
With  rapture  of  bird-song  flung  in  from  the  trees,- 
Beautiful,  bright : 

Our  sketch  hangs  in  different  light. 

IV. 

Only  a  homely  brown  building, 

Set  deep  in  the  heart  of  the  town ; 

Twelve  girls  at  work;   and  the  master's  eye, 

Urging  the  business  silently, 

On,  ever  on, 
Till  darkness  her  curtain  lets  down. 

V. 

Work,  work,  from  the  dewy  morning, 

And  work  till  daylight  is  o'er. 
But  youth  is  elastic,  and  girls  are  gay, 
And  labor  is  mingled  with  chatter  and  play, 
The  livelong  day, 

With  "  Bleachery  "  over  the  door. 

VI. 

Their  words,  while  their  fingers  are  flying, 
Are  the  froth  of  the  o'erfoaming  glass; 

The  moment's  fancy ;   the  tint  of  a  rose ; 

The  droop  of  your  hat;   the  style  ol  their  beaux; 

Alas !    ulas ! 
For  the  free,  careless  talk  of  a 


THE  DREAMER.  97 

VII. 

Why  sitteth  fair  Rosabel  silent, 

With  look  of  some  far-away  sphere? 
Nor  joins  in  the  ripple  of  laughter  sweet, 
Nor  heeds  the  passer-by  over  the  street? 
Not  here,  I  fear, 

Is  her  heart,  though  her  service  is  here. 

VIII. 

For  Love,  the  wonderful  charmer, 

Has  touched  the  maid  with  his  wand ; 
And  she  dwells  in  a  land  of  enchantment  now, 
And  her  sky  is  lit  with  a  beautiful  glow, — 

A  glamour  I  know, — 
And  his  zephyrs  her  senses  have  fanned. 

IX. 

Oh,  the  wondrous  illusions  of  Love ! 

Oh,  the  whitest  day  that  is  o'er! 
The  miracle  by  all  ages  approved, 
Wlien  first  we  believe  we  love  and  are  loved! 
Earth  hath  no  more 

Transcendent  bliss  to  add  to  our  store ! 

X. 

So  Rosabel  dreams  of  her  lover, 

The  hero  so  brave  to  her  view; 
Of  tenderest  husband  and  faithfullest  wife, 
Ennobling  and  blessing  a  mutual  life. 
My  friend,  think  you 

Her  visions  will  ever  come  true  ? 


98  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

XI. 

O  Destiny,  what  of  this  Dreamer? 

Whisper  it  softly  and  slow. 

The  twain  that  love  fondly  will  soon  be  divided, 
And  each  to  another  be  solemnly  wedded. 
Soon,  dreamless  and  low, 

The  maiden  will  sleep  where  the  myrtles  blow.' 


(Her    Posbscripb, 


I. 

I  KNOW  my  words  are  simple, 
But  I  love  you  night  and  day  ; 
And  whether  comes  storm  or  sunshine, 
I  '11  love  you  ever,  I  say. 

II. 

I  never  tire  repeating 

These  words  so  sweet  to  me. 
Oh !   could  they  utter  the  ardor, 

The  depth  of  my  feeling  to  thcc ! 

III. 

'T  is  said  Love's  chains  are  silken. 
They  arc  not  chains  to  me ; 


HER  POSTSCRIPT.  99 

But  as  a  glad  bird  seeks  her  mate, 
So  flies  my  heart  to  thee. 

IV. 

My  name,  that  seemed  so  homely, 

You  breathed — 't  is  prettier  grown, 
And  yours  I  think  the  sweetest 

That  I  have  ever  known. 

V. 

Yes,  I  will  wait  for  you,  dearest, 

Through  years  of  good  or  ill ; 
This  thought  will  make  them  half  divine — 

We  love  each  other  still! 


^Ipberrogabiop, 


I. 

HAS  change  crept  o'er  thy  spirit  yet? 
In  one  brief  hour  is  love  forgot  ? 
I  wait  for  thee — at  noon — at  night — 

Till  hope  expires — thou  comest  not! 
If  thou  dost  love,  how  canst  thou  live 

So  near  and  yet  so  long  apart  ? 
Nor  send  one  word  or  sign  to  flash 


100  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Electric  heat  from  heart  to  heart  ? 
Are  not  our  souls  attuned  as  one  ? 
Then  is  my  pain  my  pain  alone  ? 

II. 

I  've  scorned  to  doubt.     I  've  held  such  thoughts 

Disloyal,  and  I  bade  them  go. 
And  yet,  were  I  a  man  like  thee, 

I  could  not  treat  my  true  love  so. 
Thou  badst  me  read  thy  troth  sincere, 

In  all  thy  acts.     The  proof  is  blurred; 
The  explanation  's  locked  from  me ; 

Thou  hast  the  key.     I  wait  thy  word. 
But,  O  my  king!   if  thou  shouldst  be 
Unkind  or  false,  't  were  death  to  me. 

III. 
Too  late,  when  fondest  hearts  are  fled, 

Deep  sighs  to  breathe,  sad  tears  to  shed. 
When  Paradise,  we  prized  too  late, 

Is  barred,  and  angels  guard  the  gate. 
Then  hasten,  dear,  fly  straight  to  me  ! 

While  ghostly  terrors  of  the  night 
Fold  up  their  tents  and  trooping  flee, 

Fill  thou  my  life  with  love  and  light. 
If  thy  dear  love  be  all  my  own, 
Come,  and  our  bliss  will  be  begun ! 


Estranged, 


T\EAD ! — yet  not  dead  ! — ah  me, 
\J        That  it  is  so! 
'T  was  all  so  different 

One  year  ago, 

Oft  I  recall  the  blissful  hour, 
When  life  burst  forth  in  perfect  flower! 
There  beamed  new  brightness  in  the  air, 
There  streamed  enchantment  everywhere. 
December  seemed  as  gay  as  June, 
The  runnels  purled  a  merry  tune, 
The  founts  of  joy  did  so  o'erflow, 
My  very  heart  did  bud  and  blow ! 
To  music  danced  the  feet  of  Time, 
For  One  was  near,  and  One  was  mine ! 
And  I  was  brave,  whate'er  befall, 
For  One  was  near,  and  One  was  all! 

Ah  me  ! 

What  ecstasy,  lost  Love,  with  thee ! 
Meth ought  I  never  lived  before. 
Alas !   't  is  death,  if  love  be  o'er. 
What  pure  communion,  just  control, 
Marked  the  discourse  of  soul  with  soul ! 
Yet  what  endearing  words  were  said, 
While  each  for  each  a  heaven  made ! 
All  other  joys  sank  in  eclipse 
[101] 


102  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

At  final  meeting  of  the  lips! 


Today  it  seems  so  long  ago  .  .  . 

So  many  tears  since  then  I  've  shed, 
My  heait's  so  heavy  now,  I  know 

'T  is  I  am  dead  ! 


Sipg    bo    MB    |*loti/   of  (Jesus, 


QING  us  a  song,  my  daughter,' 

O     A  tremulous  old  man  said. 

'T  was  the  still  hour,  made  for  music, — 

The  sun  had  sunk  to  his  bed. 
And  all  in  the  pensive  gloaming 

The  darkness  deepening  fell, 
And  naught  was  heard  save  one  lone  bird, 

With  his  plaint  of  Whip-poor-Will. 

Then  in  the  large  old  farmhou-M', 
To  the  organ's  solemn  chords. 

The  maiden  sang,  and  the  night-air  rang 
To  the  theme  of  tender  words. 

Perhaps  't  was  Annie  Laurie, 
Or  the  Emigrant's  Lament, 


SING  TO  ME  NOW  OF  JESUS.  108 

And  "  It  may  be  for  years  and  it  may  be  forever," 
Whose  charm  with  the  sweet  hour  blent. 

Intently  the  aged  one  listened 

To  the  strains  that  rose  and  fell, 
To  the  dreamful  voice  of  his  daughter  dear, 

And  lie  felt  the  musical  spell. 
"  Those  songs  are  sweet,"  he  murmured, 

"  But  I  seem  to  miss  one  name. 
Oh,  sing  to  me  now  of  Jesus ; 

I  am  longing  to  hear  of  Him." 

He  was  nearing  the  swelling  river, 

Which  each  must  cross  alone. 
He  was  nearing  the  Realm  of  Spirits, 

The  world  unseen,  unknown  ; 
Nearing  the  awful  secrets 

Beyond  the  night  so  drear, 
He  wanted  fast  hold  of  Jesus, — - 

He  longed  for  the  heavenly  cheer. 

^v 
Then  the  old  hymns,  sweet  and  holy, 

She  sang  till  he  went  to  rest, 
And  the  peace  of  God  on  his  soul  was  shed, 

And  soothed  the  troubled  breast. 
Oh !   hymns  we  heard  in  childhood, 

Beside  our  mother's  knee, — 
Repeat  them  gently  when  we  shall  stand 

On  the  verge  of  the  solemn  sea. 


I. 

CALM  was  the  eve,  and  wondrous  bright, 
O'er  silver  lake  and  town. 
Queen  Dian  rode  a  car  of  light, 

And  dropped  her  smiling  glances  down, 
O'er  slumbering  Michigan, 
A  silent  glory  white. 

II. 

Oh,  who  could  guess  from  night  so  fair 

The  rising,  deadly  gale? 
The  carnival  of  sprites  in  air, 

The  cruel  surge,  the  flapping  sail, 
The  cheek  with  terror  pale, 

The  faltered,  gasping  prayer? 

III. 

On  shore  they  slept,  undreaming  bale; 

Some  to  embark  at  morn. 
But  ere  day  broke,  began  to  wail 

Uncanny  winds,  with  sounds  forlorn,— 
To  whisper,  shriek  and  moan, 
With  weird  and  ghostly  tale. 

IV. 

At  dawn  the  Fiends  are  mustering, — 
Wild  clouds  shut  in  the  sky; 
C104] 


SHIPWRECK.  105 

Big  raindrops  fall  with  startling  ring, — 
The  marshal'd  winds  like  furies  fly, — 
Waves  lift  their  hands  on  high, — 
The  Storm,  the  Storm  is  King! 

V 

Now  fiercer  rage  the  powers  of  air, 

The  vast  lake  heaves  and  boils. 
Wo !    for  the  luckless  boat  caught  there, 
Where  brave  Alpena  frantic  toils 

Deep !    thou  wilt  have  fresh  spoils, 
Nor  for  their  anguish  spare. 

VI. 

The  flashing  whitecaps  mount  the  skies, 

The  engulfing  channels  yawn 
She  sinks,  doomed   ship— no  more  to  rise, 
Her  host  to  watery  grave  have  gone. 
Moan  !    moan  !    blast  sweeping  on, 
With  deep  and  mighty  cries. 

VII. 

Three  days  the  hurricane  prevailed, 

Lashing  the  lake  and  shore. 
Whatever  craft  the  waters  sailed 

Was  wrecked  or  madly  driven  o'er. 
Such  awful  gale  before 

To  find  the  oldest  memory  failed. 

VIII. 

With  thunderous  roar,  winds  grappled  rock ; 

On  shore  smote  giant  trees. 
They  fell  like  pipe-stems  at  the  shock, 

Or  troops  mown  down  by  batteries. 


106  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

The  wreck-strewn  forest  lies 

Like  towns  where  earthquakes  rock- 

IX. 

At  length  the  elemental  burst, 

Resistless,  gloomy,  bold, 
Had  spent  its  force  and  wrought  its  worst. 
But  oft  in  vision  wives  behold 

Those  billows  mountain-high — 
Spray  blinding  rock  and  sky. 


Uplotfed, 


OH,  give  me  love,  true  love  alone 
My  yearning  spirit  cries. 
Silent  I  wait  for  an  answering  tone, 
For  tender  and  sweet  replies. 

In  vain.     There's  dew  for  the  thirsty  ground, 
Sunshine  for  the  buds  unblown; 

Each  wild  bird  its  mate  hath  found. 
Only  my  heart  is  lone. 

Yet  have  I  dreampt  of  a  manly  form, 

And  a  spirit  strong  and  true ; 
And  a  sunny  nook  unreached  by  storm, 

Where   sweetest    home-joys   grew. 


UNLOVED.  107 

I  've  seen,  alas !   those  hopes  decay, 

And  yet  for  love  I  sigh; 
Chasing  as  desert-travelers  may 

The  mirage  in  the  sky. 

For  wealth  or  fame  can  never  still 

An  aching  heart's  unrest, 
Nor  void  in  woman's  nature  fill ; 

Unloved,  she  is  unblest. 

Then  give  me  love ;   for  it  I  pine 

As  the  captive  in  his  cell ; 
As  the  bird  encaged  for  the  soaring  range 

Of  the  woods  he  loved  so  well. 

Only  an  echo-sound  replies, 

And  the  whispering  air  is  still! 
The  half -born  hope  within  me  dies, 

And  the  night  grows  dark  and  chill. 

Still  for  affection's  sacred  boon 

My  anguished  prayer  will  rise, 
Will  it  ne'er  wake  an  answering  tone, 

With  tender  and  sweet  replies? 


/Aopody    of    Dolotposa, 


I. 

AM  alone — worn  and  alone,' 
To  herself  she  said ; 
'  No  tender  voice  when  day  is  done, 
No  soft  caress  of  a  loving  one, 
Though  I  am  wed. 

II. 

'  These  tasteful  rooms  I  dress  with  care 

For  whom,  aye,  whom  ? 
For  smiles  that  bless  me  on  the  stair? 
For  a  heart  that  holds  me  ever  fair? 

Alas !    my  doom. 

III. 

*  I  've  been  a  wife  full  many  a  year, 

Helpful  and  true; 

Sure  all  his  griefs  and  burden  to  share. 
Are  food,  a  roof  and  something  to  wear 

A  wife's  full  due? 

IV. 

'  Can  creature-comforts  gauge  the  reach 

Of  the  spirit's  wants  ? 
The  converse  sweet,  the  softened  speech- 
The  flow  of  heart  from  each  to  each— 
For  these  it  pants. 
[108] 


THE  MONODY  OF  DOLOROSA.  109 

V. 

'  The  sympathy  of  kindred  souls, 

The  ways  of  Love  .  .  . 
The  generous  preference  that  controls, 
The  clasp  that  saith,  while  it  enfolds, 

Rest  here,  my  dove! 

VI. 

'  He  will  not  .  .  .  perhaps  cannot  .  .  .  speak 

What  lovers  frame. 
He  deems  me  foolish,  willful,  weak. 
His  words  are  blows  that  rudely  break 

My  life's  fond  dream. 

VII. 

'  I  stifle  in  these  prison  walls 

As  in  a  tomb. 

No  childhood  patters  through  these  halls. 
Nor  baby  prattle  softly  falls 
To  break  the  gloom. 

VIII. 

'  Great  God !   are  hearts  so  little  worth 

Grown  wild  with  pain, 
That  men  may  tread  them  in  the  earth, 
And  then  walk  confidently  forth, 

And  wear  no  stain  ? 

IX. 

'  Oh,  would  he  say  '  Forgive,  forgive,' 

My  love  would  live ! ' 
And  then  her  voice  sank  to  a  moan; 
'  But  no !    I  feel  I  must  go  on 

Alone !   alone  ! ' 


apd    Polly, 


I. 

SOMETIMES  the  young  indulge  in  scorning 
The  older  people's  sober  warning, 
That  he  who  "  drinks "  gets  soft  and  mellow, 
And  yield  an  ear 
To  what  they  hear 

From  some  gay,  plausible  young  fellow. 
My  lads,  't  is  wise 
To  take  your  seniors'  good  advice. 

II. 

Jack  was  a  confident  gallant, 
Who,  after  day's  work,  often  went 

Some  miles  to  woo  a  farmer's  daughter. 
Their  homes  between 
A  pool  was  seen — 

A  long,  wide  marsh  of  muddy  water. 
Jack,  starting  early, 
Walked  round  the  pond  to  see  Miss  Polly 

III. 

One  night,  attired  in  all  his  best, 
White  linen  suit  and  gorgeous  vest, 

He  reached  the  hollow  marsh  belated. 
'T  was  miles  around. 
Now,  why  not  bound 
Across,  and  soon  to  Poll  be  mated? 
[110] 


JACK  AND  POLLY.  Ill 

"  Waist-deep !   waist-deep !  " 
The  old  frogs  croak,  the  old  frogs  peep. 

IV. 

"  Waist  deep  ?   O  pshaw !  "   Jack  quickly  said. 
"  I  better  know  with  half  a  head. 

'T  is  shallow ;   one  could  wade  across  't. 
I  '11  well  prepare, 
And  soon  be  there, 
And  gain  the  full  hour  I  have  lost." 
"  Knee-deep !   knee-deep  ! 
'T  is  but  knee-deep  !  "   the  young  frogs  peep. 

V. 

Jeck  took  the  younger  frogs'  advice, 
Rolled  up  his  garments  in  a  trice, 

And,  wading  in,  soon  learned  his  folly. 

The  waters  rose — 

Waist-deep  he  goes ! 

Oh,  he  has  spoiled  his  fine  white  clothes! 
He  was  a  sight  to  laughing  Polly. 

Ashamed  and  cold, 

His  love  untold, 
He  homeward  sneaked,  no  longer  bold ; 

And  at  the  pool 

The  frogs  all  screamed,  "  Old  fool ! 

Old  fool!   old  fool!" 


Vesper 


DAY'S  crimson  flush  has  faded. 
The  silence  broodeth  all. 
The  lovely  earth  is  shaded 

By  night's  o'erhanging  pall. 

Star  after  star  is  beaming, — 
I  heed  no  more  their  ray. 

I  dreaming,  fondly  dreaming, 
My  heart  is  far  away. 

I  think  of  words  thou  'st  spoken, 
Words  spoken  once  to  me. 

Oh,  with  a  love  unbroken, 
I  think  of  thee — of  thec  ! 


[112] 


•A  Lowers  RemonsbranGB  bo  [His  Dear, 


I. 

T  AST  month  your  letters  blossomed  out 
j_j     In  words  the  Love-God  sends; 
But  yesternight  there  fell  a  blight, — 
'  Hereafter  write  as  friends.' 

II. 

I  conned  it  o'er,  amazed  and  sore. 

The  arrow  pierced  my  heart. 
By  silence  pride  the  wound  would  hide, 

But  deep  remained  the  smart. 

III. 

For  I  have  loved  you  truly,  sweet, 
And  hung  on  '  Yours  till  death/ 

You  seemed  the  soul  of  constancy. 
Oh,  was  it  only  breath  ? 

IV. 

I  yield  henceforth  to  your  decree, 
Will  write  but  friendly  letters. 

I  give  you  back  your  fealty. 
I  hold  you  by  no  fetters. 

V. 

If  on  another  you  can  smile, — 
Allow  some  happier  man 
[113] 


114  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

T<>  wear  the  heart  I  held  awhile, 
I  '11  bear  as  best  I  can. 

VI. 

I  would  not  on  your  happiness    . 

A  grief  or  shadow  cast. 
You  filled  my  heart  with  heavenly  bliss. 

Alas!   it  did  not  last. 

VII. 

Oh,  wherefore  is  the  limit  set  ''. 

If  I  have  erred,  reveal. 
I  cannot  yet  your  troth  forget ;     , 

I  have  some  tokens  still. 

VIII. 

And  I  will  strive  so  pure  to  live, — 

So  grandly,  squarely  do, 
You  '11  write,  though  late,- — '  Behold,  I  wait 

For  you,  love,  only  you ! ' 


Epded, 


dream  of  the  heart,  it  hath  fled  as  the  shade 
*JL      That  moves  like  a  phantom  o'er  mountain  and   glade. 
Yet  even  the  shadows  so  airy  and  gray 
Have  a  rare  grace  exceeding  the  beauty  of  day. 

Return,  dear  Dream !    come  back  to  me  yet. 
Thy  wondrous  enchantment  I  cannot  forget. 
The  visits  of  angels  methinks  could  not  be 
So  charmed  and  divine  as  thy  visions  to  me. 

No  more — ah,  no  more !   too  wild  was  the  blast. 
The  Dream  of  the  years  is  entombed  with  the  past. 
My  long-cherished  hopes  a  moment  must  quiver, 
Like  a  lute's  broken  strings,  then  be  voiceless  forever! 

Though  stars  have  been  beaming  with  silvery  light, 
Yet  tears  are  now  dimming  those  eyes  of  the  night ; 
And  clouds,  "with  their  gloomy  and  desolate  frown, 
Like  high  tides  of  ocean  now  swiftly  come  on. 

The  fond  heart  still  flutters,  a  bird  in  the  rain, 
Vainly  beating  its  wings  'gainst  the  flame-lighted  pane. 
It  must  hence  from  the  vision  of  comfort  and  cheer, 
And  enter  the  tempest.     Its  rest  is  not  here. 

Yet,  Love,  hadst  thou  perished,  but  tender  and  true, 
I  had  loved  thee  forever,  had  loved  only  you. 

[115] 


1.16  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATI.. 

Thy  mem'ry  I  'd  cherished  still  green  in  my  heart, 
And  felt  thou  wert  still  of  my  being  a  part. 

But  wo  to  the  soul  whose  idol  was  clay, — 
Alone  o'er  its  wreck  to  wrestle  and  pray. 
The  halo  is  flown,  the  false  prop  is  gone, — 
The  world  spins  around,  and   it  sinks  in  a  *\voi>n! 


osaiG-Wor^crs, 


I. 

SOME  built  with  massive  piles  of  stone 
The  Pyramids,  the  Pantheon, 

Through  centuries  to  endure, — 
The  glory  of  the  ages  gray, 
The  marvel  of  our  world  today, 

Of  fadeless  fame  secure. 
And  some  with  colored  bits,  and  small, 
Built  tessellated,  pictured  wall, 

And  rare  Mosaic  floor. 
Alone,  each  fragment  worthless  seemed ; 
Combined,  the  work  with  genius  gleamed ; 
And  flower  and  star  and  order  grew 
Beneath  their  workmanship  so  true. 

Alike  the  great,  the  small 
Have  made  the  Art-world  beautiful. 


MOSAIC-WORKERS.  117 

II. 

Among  the  poets  of  all  time 

A  royal  few  wrought  verse  sublime. 

Like  giant  trees  they  stand, 
That  nigh  a  thousand  years  ago 
In  Mariposan  groves  did  grow, — 

Or  like  cathedrals  grand. 
Did  they  exhaust  the  epic  themes? 
Our  age  not  unheroic  seems, 

Whose  sons  for  Native  Land, 
And  God,  and  Home  and  Liberty 
Went  forth  to  bravely  do  or  die! 
Many,  Mosaic-Workers  be, 
Weaving  their  ballads  skillfully. 

They,  too,  with  patient  toil, 
Create  the  Fair,  the  Beautiful. 

III. 

Our  lives  are  all  Mosaics  rare, 

No  two  alike,  each  planned  with  care 

By  Artist  infinite. 

Some  rosy  pink,  some  gold  and  white, 
Some  gray,  and  some  like  solemn  night, 

Each  fitted  bit  to  bit. 
The  pattern  oft  we  fail  to  see, 
And  careless  mar  the  symmetry, 

And  dull  the  marbles  white. 
We  are  as  children  larger  grown; 
WTe  spoil  the  plan,  we  break  the  stone, 
And  o'er  the  wreck  we  moan  and  cry. 
But  pity  fills  our  Father's  eye; 
And  when  we  all  to  Him  resign, 
He  makes  the  dimmed  Mosaics  shine ! 


•A    Dream    oF   '/\rGadi|, 


I. 

A  MAN  of  cares,  no  longer  young, 
I  dwell  amid  the  busy  town. 
My  clerks  may  note,  with  gallant  tongue. 

The  willowy  form,  the  silken  gown ; 
May  walk  the  dreamy  lanes  of  love. 

And  drain  the  brimming  cup  of  joy. 
Far  otherwise  my  destinies  move, 

Far  other  themes  my  thoughts  employ! 
As  men,  when  banished    Eden  see, 
I  view  my  lost,  fair  Arcady! 

II. 

Yet  I  have  known  Love's  alphabet, — 

The  smile,  the  blush,  the  sigh,  the  tear; 
The  ecstasy  of  love  returned. 

'T  is  o'er,  alas!   and  I  am  hen-. 
But  sometimes,  bending  o'er  my  book, 

I  see  instead  a  wistful  face, 
In  whose  true  eyes  I  used  to  look 

And  all  its  tender  heaven  to  trace ! 
And  for  a  moment  comes  to  me 
A  blissful  glimpse  of  Arcady. 


III. 

Last  eve,  when  riding  up  the  street, 
I  saw  a  modest,  youthful  pair — 

t~*  *  n~* 


A  DREAM  OF  ARCADY.  119 

A  manly  youth,  a  lassie  sweet. 

I  smiled,  but  envied.     Love  was  there ! 
What  was  a  costly  boarding-place 

To  welcomes  .  .  such  as  I  had  known  ? 
The  fond  exclaim,  the  arms'  embrace, 

The  eyes  that  told  a  heart  my  own ! 
The  constant  soul ;   true  sympathy ; 

While  each  for  each  made  Arcady ! 

IV. 

Home  altars  have  been  wrecked  by  change, 

And  incompatibility. 
I  '11  ne'er  believe  I  would  have  tired 

Of  her,  or  she  of  me. 
Forever  shrined  in  one  true  heart, 

Undimming,  her  ideal  lives. 
We  would  have  walked  in  naught  apart, — 

She  proved  the  model  of  all  wives. 
Whate'er  betide,  our  barque  should  glide 

O'er  silver  tide  in  Arcady! 

V. 

Come  back  the  music  of  thy  voice! 

Come  back  the  days  when  by  my  side ! 
Come  back,  the  heaven  of  our  joys, 

In  God's  good  time,  come,  and  abide ! 
Yet,  mayhap,  better  prayer  would  be, 

(Her  memory  sacred  in  my  breast,) — 
Lord,  I  refer  it  back  to  Thee; 

Whate'er  Thou  dost,  it  is  the  best. 
But  let  Thy  love  around  her  be, 
Whom  once  I  knew  in  Arcady. 


>be    SupdoWp     Sea, 


L 

OH,  the  Sunset  Sea!    Oh,  beautiful  Sea! 
Mighty,  limitless,  vast  and  free-  ! 
I  stand  on  the  shore  of  the  golden  lands, 
Where  the  white  curling  waves  lap  silvery  sands, 
And  list  to  the  measured  shock  and  speech 
Of  billows  that  break  on  the  sounding  beach. 
And,  gazing  as  far  as  the  sight  can  go, 
See  the  liquid  stretch  and  the  ceaseless  flow. 
And  never  the  shimmer  and  .gray  glimmer  dies 
Till  the  blue  of  the  sea  meets  the  blue  of  the 


II. 

Oh,  the  Sundown  Sea,  ever  bounding  and  free  ! 

Unfettered  and  bold  in  thy  grand  majesty  ! 

Yon  good  ship  rides  on  thy  heaving  breast 

To  the  spicy  green  isles  of  the  purpling  West. 

Ah!   many  have  stood  by  the  smiling  Bay, 

And  seen  their  argosies  sailing  away  ; 

And  waited  and  watched  at  the  Golden  Gate,  • 

For  their  ship  that  was  due  —  their  ship  that  Mas  late. 

Oh,  wonderful,  trackless,  treacherous  Sea! 

Deep  mysteries  gulfed  in  thy  bosom  be! 

III. 

Oh,  the  moaning  Tide  !     Oh,  the  waters  wide  ! 
Rocked  in  thy  cradle  I  love  to  ride. 


THE  SUNDOWN  SEA.  121 

Tempest  and  grave  in  thy  surges  may  be; 
Terror  and  charm  have  their  home  with  thee. 
Thou  'rt  a  spirit  of  light,  when  dimples  thy  face  ; 
Thou  'rt  a  monarch  of  might,  in  thy  rushing  embrace ; 
Thou  art  motion  and  life — deep  music,  wild  glee, — 
Thou  art  vast  and  sublime,  type  of  Infinity. 
Unaltered  thou  rolledst  when  earth-life  began, 
When  the  mystical  garden  held  maiden  and  man. 

IV. 

Of  the  deep,  deep  Sea,  of  all  souls  I  dream. 

We  have  launched  our  ships  on  youth's  warm  stream. 

Rich  freighted  with  hopes,  they  traversed  the  main, 

.Some  rudderless  ones  came  never  again. 

We  bend  to  our  tasks,  but  at  gloaming  of  day 

We  muse  on  our  treasures  afloat  far  away. 

We  watch  for  the  gleam  of  the  snow-white  sails. 

The  storm-wind  careers,  and  the  last  beam  pales. 

We  weep  and  we  pray — then  submissively  wait, — 

And  lo !   our  good  ship  safe  enters  the  Gate ! 


V/abGlpcd    blpe    Supseb, 


I. 

LONG  time  they  watched  the  sunset  fill 
With  molten  glory  all  the  vale, 
The  purple  light  of  wooded  hill, 

The  snowy  gleam  of  distant  sail; 

The  well-marked  mountain-path  that  wound 

From  rock  and  forest  far  away ; 
Two  wee  ones  tripping  hand  in  hand, 

With  glowing  cheeks  from  romp  and  play. 

The  man's  stern  visage  gentler  grew; 

The  book  lay  in  his  hand  unread ; 
The  low-voiced  lady  nearer  drew, 

And  turned  her  wistful  face,  and  said: 

II. 

We  twain  have  trod  life's  paths  together 

In  sweet  June  fields  where  roses  blow, — 

Through  summer's  fire;  through  autumn  weather, 
Unto  the  chill  of  coming  snow. 

A  long,  long  way ;   with  many  a  tangle ; 

With  thorns  that  pierced  our  weary  feet; 
But  side  by  side  we  've  turned  each  angle, 

Entered  the  wide  and  smoother  street. 
[122] 


THEY  WATCHED  THE  SUNSET.  123 

(Sometimes  in  our  arms  the  pitying  angel 
Left  a  cherub,  and  goldened  our  way. 

A  babe  in  the  house,  't  is  a  blessed  evangel, — 
Life  blossomed  out  with  the  beauty  of  May. 

The  scenes  God  pencils  are  wonderful  Rembrandts. 

Our  buds,  soon  frosted,  withered  away. 
We  solemnly  cherished  a  fond  remembrance, 

And  low  green  mounds  of  precious  clay. 

On  swept  the  years.     Our  lives  were  earnest, 
Nor  loitered  long  by  dowery  streams. 

Intent  and  resolute,  thou  discernest 

The  possible  danger  of  poet's  dreams. 

Now  in  our  ripe  and  still  September, 

Retracing  the  hills  and  the  vales  of  our  way, 

Scarce  seems  the  maid  and  wife  we  remember 
This  soul  that  is  hoping  and  sighing  today. 

She  lived  and  she  died.     I  seem  as  some  other, 
Or  whiter  revive  youth's  earliest  fires, 

As  hearts  may  strike  more  passionate  drumbeats 
A  moment  before  the  pulse  expires. 

A  bird  in  the  dark,  I  peck  at  the  window; 

Unknowing  God's  plan,  I  weave  in  His  loom ; 
Wayworn  and  sad, — like  yon  child  on  the  hillside, 

I  am  longing  for  love,  and  Home,  sweet  Home 

We  've  almost  finished  our  work  together, 

Wrought  and  thought  till  the  sun  is  low ; 

The  mist-wreath  hides  our  path  to  the  River, 
But  Fate  alarums,  and  we  must  go. 


124  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Whether  we've  grasped  the  plan  eternal, 
Garnered  the  lore  of  the  centuries  long, 

Or,  ceasing  to  cope  with  the  awesome  Supernal, 
Birdlike  sat,  and  warbled  our  song; 

Whether  we  've  won  the  goal  of  ambition, 
Carved  a  record  above  the  rest,— 

Or  gained  the  coveted  dearer  fruition 

Of  sacred  home  lovr,  sweetest  and  best  ; 

Whether  with  strife  and  long  disappointment 
Bitter,  we  hung  over  nature  a  pall; 

Whether  our  pain  was  an  odorous  ointment, 
Making  us  sweeter  and  kinder  to  all, — 

Side  by  side  we  have  moved  to  life's  sunset. 

Day  is  hastening  swift  to  its  close 
'T  is  best  to  clasp  hands,  be  rev'rent  and  gentle, 

Till  twilight  usher  to  dreamless  repose. 


Resb, 


AFTER  the  worker's  day, 
Welcome  at  last,  release. 
After  the  long  and  toilsome  way, 
Sweet  household  rest  and  peace. 

After  perturbing  care, 

After  the  crowded  room, 

Welcome  the  calm  and  happy  air 
Of  love  and  trust  at  home. 

After  the  grinding  mill, 

Turning  by  night  and  day, — 

The  ceaseless  tasks  the  mind  that  fill, 
And  wear  the  strength  away, — 

After  the  strife  of  tongues, — 

The  eyes  that  saw  not  clear, — 

After  the  arts  of  hindering  ones 
That  wrung  a  silent  tear, — 

After  responsive  thrills 

For  other  hearts  that  ache 

With  vision  of  the  awful  ills 

That  earth  a  Bochim  make, — 

The  conflict  almost  o'er, 

With  many  a  victory  won, 
[126] 


126  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

We  drift  beside  a  tranquil  shore 
Toward  the  declining  sun. 

Sweet  rest  for  toilworn  frame ! 

God's  peace  for  weary  soul ! 
Blest  liberty  of  hand  and  brain, — 

Dear  love  to  crown  the  whole ! 

Bright  sunset  hour  of  life! 

My  Indian-summer  days ! 
With  teeming  good  the  season  's  rife. 

Great  God,  accept  my  praise. 

Still  would  I  sow  the  seed 
Of  truth  by  pilgrim  path, 

To  glow  in  beauty  where  men  tread, 
And  be  an  aftermath. 

When  crimson  day  departs, 

And  hands  their  toiling  end, 

'T  were  sweet  if  deep  on  some  fond  hearts 
My  name  were  graved — '  Our  Friend.' 

I  know  not  what  may  be 

When  night  of  death  is  o'er; 

But  trust  in  love  vast  as  the  sea, 
A  sea  without  a  shore! 


Tips    Moth 


ers 


I. 

I  HEAR  that  you  are  loved  of  God, 
And  made  a  rich  and  happy  mother ; 
A  sacred  tie;   a  tender  joy; 
A  love  unlike  all  other. 
In  days  to  come,  sweet  baby-charms 

And  winsome  ways  will  be  unfolding 
But  most,  the  soul  within  thy  arms 
Thy  soul  will  e'er  be  molding. 

II. 

A  mother!     Oh,  what  thoughts  are  thine, 

When  love's  clairvoyance  lights  the  years, 
And  traces  for  thy  boy  the  line 

He  '11  tread  in  joys  or  fears  ? 
A  mother  !     Fair  may  be  his  form, 

And  cherub  face,  his  rings  of  hair. 
But  what  the  stamp  upon  the  man  V 

And  will  his  life  be  fair? 

III. 

A  mother!     Oh,  what  mighty  power 

For  good  or  ill  dwells  in  that  word ! 

For  all  the  chords  of  that  young  soul 
By  thee  shall  first  be  stirred. 

Thy  voice  shall  tune  his  heart  to  feel, 
Thy  face  shall  be  his  open  book, 
[127] 


128  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

And  in  thy  most  unguarded  hours 
Deep  in  thy  heart  he  '11  look. 

IV. 

Now  thou  canst  bend  that  baby  will; 

But  when  to  sturdy  manhood  woke, 
Say,  canst  thou  mold  the  flinty  rock, 

Or  break  the  giant  oak  ? 
A  mother !     'T  is  the  holiest  trust 

To  saintliest  mortal  ever  given, 
To  train  by  purity  and  truth 
•  For  purity  and  Heaven. 

V. 

Oh,  envy  not  the  ermined  queen 

Her  canopy  of  state  unfurl'd, 
For  mothers  rock  in  humble  homes 

The  nations  of  the  world. 
And  destiny  waits  on  their  breath, 

Who  train  the  young  with  tale  or  song. 
For  deeds  of  heroism  and  faith, 

Or — weakness,  guilt  and  wrong. 

VI. 

A  mother!     Didst  thou  ever  dream 

With  what  that  mystic  word  was  rife? 
Dost  shrink  lest  thou  shouldst  harm  the  boy 

Thou  lovest  as  thy  life  ? 
Then  on  God's  altar  consecrate 

Thyself  and  all  thou  lov'st  to  Heaven, 
And  guard  with  prayerful,  ceaseless  r.-uv 

The  jewel  He  has  given. 


Bfnoriam, 


T}  OSES  blush  upon  the  plain ; 
£\     Trills  the  lark  on  fragrant  lea; 
Blooms  my  heart's  flower  ne'er  again, 
Hushed  the  one  sweet  voice  for  me. 

Dimpled  fingers,  snowy  brow, 
Violet  eyes  and  shining  hair 

Under  clay  are  hidden  low. 

Earth  has  naught  that  seems  so  fair. 

Long  have  been  the  days,  and  dreary, 
Since  my  darling  sank  to  sleep. 

Oft  my  heart  is  sad  and  weary, 
Failing  heavenly  tryst  to  keep. 

But  her  spirit  seems  to  hover, 

Angel  Eva  glorified ; 
And  I  think  when  life  is  over, 

I  shall  slumber  by  her  side. 


[129] 


Early    Dead, 


SHE  had  a  brief  and  sinless  lot. 
Not  soon  her  name  will  be  forgot. 
She  burst  the  chrysalis  of  clay, 
And  soared  to  realm  of  perfect  day. 


Joy,  mourner,  joy !   that  thou  hast  given 
Thy  bird  of  paradise  to  Heaven. 
That  in  thy  lily,  pure  and  white. 
The  Heavenly  Gardener  takes  delight. 


[190] 


Llbble    Etfa, 


OFT  in  fancy  now  I  see  her, 
With  her  winning  childish  ways. 
With  a  light  and  fairy  figure, 

And  a  sweet,  unconscious  grace. 
Sunny  ringlets  softly  flowing 

O'er  a  neck  of  stainless  snow, 
Soulful  eyes  like  star-orbs  glowing 

Keath  her  high  and  thoughtful  brow. 

On  each  lovely,  chiseled  feature 

Guileless  innocence  appears; 
Yet  her  infant  soul  is  stirring 

With  a  thought  beyond  her  years. 
She  knows  not  deceit  or  doubting, 

Faith  and  Love  her  heart  enshrine. 
Ah!   fair  cherub,  sweet  and  saintly, 

Would  such  love  and  trust  were  mine ! 

Now  she  trips  with  airy  motion 

To  the  open  cottage  door; 
Gazes  on  the  gorgeous  sunset, 

Vale  and  woodland,  bird  and  flower, 
Till  her  speaking  eyes  grow  dreamy, 

And  her  earnest  face  more  bright, 
And  a  glory  seems  to  wrap  her 

Like  a  spirit  clothed  in  light ! 
[131] 


132  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

O  ray  darling !   O  my  angel ! 

Lo,  thy  mother's  yearning  arms. 
Lot  me  clasp  thee  to  my  bosom, 

Kiss  and  shield  thee  from  all  harms. 
Put  thy  dimpled,  dainty  fingers, 

Waxen  fingers,  round  my  neck. 
Let  me  hear  thy  silvery  singing. 

Eva !    sainted  darling,  speak  ! 

All  in  vain !     The  vision  fadeth, 

Like  a  .pageant  in  the  air, 
And  a  low  mound  in  God's  acre 

Shows  me  Eva  sleeping  there ! 
Deep  and  dark  the  shadow  gathereth, 

And  my  aching  heart  more  sore, 
For  I  know  that  I  shall  see  hrr 

In  this  wide  world  nevermon  ! 

Yet  I  bow  at  this  affliction, 

Stilling  now  my  anguish  wild. 
Well  I  know  that  God's  affection 

Overgoes  mine  to  my  child. 
But  this  life  will  seem  more  dreary, 

And  the  world  more  dull  aixl  plain, 
Till  I  tind  my  sweet  immortal 

On  the  Golden  Shore  again ' 


T~)RIGHT  bird !    that  skimm'st  the  waters  blue, 
J3     And  on  the  treetop  rests  thy  wing, — 
What  is  thy  mission  ?     Tell  me  true, 
Is  life  to  thee  a  gladsome  thing? 
A  burst  of  music  rippled  clear. 

The  bird  laughed  out  in  pearls  of  song, — 
'Part  of  my  mission  is  to  cheer!' 

'To  cheer !   to  cheer ! '   rang  loud  and  long. 

'I  help  my  partner  weave  our  nest, 

And  while  the  embryo  she  broods, 
I  troll  the  strains  she  loves  the  best, 

That  charm  the  sylvan  solitudes. 
'T- is  joy  to  fill  each  birdling's  mouth; 

God  doth  their  feathery  coats  prepare. 
We  steer  like  princes  to  the  South, 

When  Northern  groves  are  chill  and  bare.' 

O  honey-bees !    why  toil  ye  so 

All  day  amid  the  fragrant  clover? 
Ye  have  your  fill  from  flower-bell, 

Why  store  the  nectar'd  sweetness  over? 
'We  cannot  pause.     We  have  our   laws 

We  're  part  of  noble  Nature's  plan. 
Were  we  to  shirk,  we  'd  spoil  the  work 

So  marvellous,  so  prized  by  man.' 
[133] 


134  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Sweet  flowers!. that  neither  toil   nor  spin, — 

In  more  than  Tyrian  dyes  arrayed,  — 
Why  blush  so  deep,  when  all  unseen 

In  mountain  dell  or  lonely  glade? 
For  eye  of  God,  who  beauty  loves, 

And  sows  it  with  a  lavish  hand ; 
That  man  may  find,  where'er  he  roves, 

God's  finger-prints  upon  the  land.' 

While  pondering  these"  answers  o'er, 

Some  merry  houseflies  past  me  flew. 
'  We  're  scavengers,'  they  buzzed,  before 

My  quaint  attempt  to  interview. 
Since  bird  and  bee  and  flower-gemmed  sod 

Benevolent  behest  obey, 
Shall  man,  in  image  like  a  God, 

Less  joy  to  nobly  serve  than  they? 


Baby    Grace, 


jrpIS  o'er.     I've  seen  thy  face,  my  angel  daughter, 

1.      Now  mirrored  but  in  dreams. 
Thou  wert  a  star  that  trembled  on  the  water, 
Then  hid  its  timid  beams. 

Long  bad  each  glowing  hope,  each  gorgeous  vision, 

Caught  richest  hues  from  thee. 
Methought  thy  nurture  were  a  happy  mission, 

A  favored  destiny. 

Thou  cam'st, — the  best  belov'd  and  long  expected ; 

But  not  to  linger  here. 
So  frail  and  fair,  we  knew  thou  wert  elected 

To  fill  a  higher  sphere. 

Pure  as  a  dewdrop  to  the  skies  exhaling, 

Thy  spirit  passed  away, 
While  we,  with  tears  and  anguish  unavailing, 

Hung  o'er  thy  precious  clay. 

Oli,  it  is  hard  to  yield  the  hopes  once  cherished, 

And  feel  that  all  is  o'er; 
Yearning  for  grace  and  beauty  that  have  perished, 

And  will  return  no  more. 

For  other  mothers,  love  hath  fond  caresses, 
The  dear  delights  of  home, 
[135] 


136  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Sweet  prattle,  winsome  glances,  cherub  ki- 
And  riper  joys  to  come. 

But  I  may  not  behold  thy  fine  unfolding, 

The  child  a  maiden  grown ; 
Nor  see  in  beauty's  shape  thy  spirit  molding, 

For  God  hath  claimed  His  own. 

To  walk  unmurmuring,  yet  bereaved  and  lonely, 

Must  be  my  earthly  lot; 
Still  humbly  trusting,  not  for  sorrow  only, 

Nor  vainly  I  have  wrought. 

'T  is  not  in  vain  to  bear  a  child  for  Heaven ! 

Life's  painful  paths  untrod, 
At  once  a  blest  eternity  is  given, 

Commensurate  with  God. 

There  lives  our  Grace,  and  with  celestial  pity, 

Perchance,  regards  our  state; 
Waiting  until  we  reach  the  shining  city, 

To  ope  the  pearly  gate. 


Peb    Glpaiplie, 


rnWICE  from  our  cottage  of  roses 
J.      The  spoiler  had  stolen  the  bloom, 
And  we  wept  by  a  blighted  roof-tree, 
For  beauty  lost  and  perfume. 

But  the  loving,  all-wise  Father 

On  the  flowerless  stem  hath  smiled. 

Again  it  blushes  in  crimson, 

Once  more  we  enclasp  a  child ! 

Oh,  joy  so  long  denied  us. 

Oh,  ecstasy  of  bliss ! 
What 's  purer  than  child  embraces, 

Or  sweeter  than  boyhood's  kiss  ? 

His  soul-lit  eyes  are  radiant, 

He  has  brown,  brown  locks  of  hair. 
His  murmured  "My  own  dear  mother" 

Is  music  in  my  ear. 

He  comes  a  dancing  sunbeam, 

Glimmering  in  and  out ; 
Waking  the  household  silence 

With  boyhood's  laugh  and  shout. 

And  yet  his  ways  are  gentle, 
Loving  his  book  full  well ; 
[1371 


138  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Locking  within  his  youthful  breast 
Much  more  than  he  will  tell. 

Some  winds  have  blown  over  him  roughly, 
Some  waves  have  whitened  life's  sea; 

But  all  he  has  felt  of  sorrow 

Makes  him  but  dearer  to  me. 

By  the  deathless  love  of  a  mother, 

That  thrills  at  the  babe's  first  moan, 

By  tenderest  ties  of  affection, 
I  know  he  is  all  my  own. 

What  thoughts  in  our  bosoms  are  swelling, 
What  hopes  resurrected  arise, 

While  we  mark  his  grave,  manly  bearing, 
Or  gaze  in  his  eloquent  eyes  ! 

Love  pierces  the  dim,  distant  future, 

And  paints  him  to  manhood  grown, 

Perhaps  our  staff  and  beautiful  rod, 
For  Age  to  lean  upon. 

But  often  we  silently  tremble, 

Faint  with  a  secret  fear, 
Recalling  our  castles  that  crumbled, 

And  the  dead  of  many  a  year. 

Blest  Savior,  we  ask  for  our  darling, 
Not  long  life,  nor  riches,  nor  fame  ; 

But  mold  him  into  Thy  likene-^, 

And  write  Thou  in  Heaven  his  name. 

* 


Robip    by    /Ay 


CLOSE  by  my  chamber  window, 
I  can  reach  at  will, 
While  sitting  quite  still, 
The  boughs'  of  an  apricot-tree, 

Where  's  the  snug  little  nest 
Of  a  Robin  Redbreast, 
As  cunning  as  cunning  can  be ! 

'T  was  built  by  a  wise  little  mason, 

With  twigs  and  fine  grass, 

On  a  Sunday,  alas ! 
She  knew  not  the  Decalogue,  so  let  it  pass. 

Then  I'ounded  with  care, 

'T  was  quite  finished  there. 

Soon  peeping  over, 

We  faintly  discover, 
With  eager  eyes,  though  with  slight  surprise, 

Three  dainty,  wee  eggs 

Of  the  loveliest  green 

That  ever  was  seen, 
And  o'er  them  the  brooding  bird  carefully  flies. 

The  trees  are  aflame  with  bloom. 

The  days  are  rapidly  flitting. 

Still  she  is  sitting,  sitting, 
That  fond,  watching  mother-heart,  patient  and  true; 

With  black-beaded  irlam-e* 
[139] 


140  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AXD  LATE. 

For  hostile  advance  : 
Her  nest  ne'er  forsaking, 
Nor  respite  taking, 
Save  her  morsel  partaking,  and  sipping  the  dew. 

What  patience,  and  faith  and  love 

That  beautiful  bird, 

With  plumage  unstirred, 
Is  teaching  us,  often  from  duties  deterred  ! 

That  an  embryo  dwells 

In  those  green  little  cells, 

Those  bonnie  wee  shells, 
Though  never  beheld,  her  nature  foretells. 

Though  little  she  knows  of  tin-  ralendar, 

And  the  time  may  seem  long 

To  a  creature  of  song, 
Her  love  outbalances  every  fear. 

Oh,  a  mother's  heart 

Is  the  most  like  that 
Of  the  great  brooding  Spirit,  that  guards  u-  here, 

Of  aught  we  shall  know 

Till  skyward  we  go 
And  God's  glory,  full-orbed  and  effulgent,  appear. 


Suspense    and    Relief2, 


WEEP,  heavens,  until  your  starry  eyes 
Are  quite  put  out  with  tears, 
And  deeply  drape  with  ebon  dyes 
Where  Luna's  face  appears. 

And  spread,  O  sympathizing  Night, 
Thy  shades  o'er  Nature  fair; 

Let  gloom  and  darkness  brooding  sit 
Upon  th'  affrighted  air. 

For  on  my  heart,  as  on  the  land. 

There  lies  a  heavy  pall ; 
And  in  life's  wildering  dark  I  stand 

Against  an  iron  wall. 

Enclosed  behind,  beside,  before, 

I  cry  anear  the  grate, — 
'  Some  loving  angel,  ope  this  door ! ' 
I  wait — and  wait — and  wait. 

Amid  the  awful  hush  I  hear 

No  heart  that  beats  with  mine; 

No  footfall  bringing  human  cheer, 
No  arms  that  round  me  twine. 

Alone  I  wrestle  with  my  fears, 
As  in  the  garden  He, 
[141] 


142  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Who  prayed,  and  wept  with  bloody  tears, 
And  unshared  agony. 

I  could  not  tell  to  happy  hearts 
The  pain  that  thrills  my  own. 

But  o'er  and  o'er  my  burden  sore 
I  bear  to  God  alone. 

A  wild  suspense,  a  fear  of  wo, 

A  dread  of  what  may  be 
For  one,  to  whom  love's  channels  flow 

As  streams  that  seek  the  sea. 

Day  after  day,  till  weary  weeks 
Of  heartache  now  are  gone, 

I  've  looked  expectant  of  some  sign 
From  a  beloved  one. 

Oh,  does  he  toss,  the  livelong  night, 
Some  fevered  bed  of  pain  V 

Or  sleeps  he  marble  cold  and  white. 
Never  to  wake  again  ? 

Or,  worse,  in  some  mysterious  hour 
When  walks  Hell's  spectered  host, 

Oh,  fell  he  'neath  the  tempter's  power. 
And  sin's  doomed  threshold  crossed:' 

Beleagured  by  each  torturing  fear, 

A  very  coward  grown, 
I  call  the  fateful  message  near, 

Yet  dread  the  message  known ! 


SUSPENSE  AND  RELIEF.  148 

Buried  within  this  living  tomb, 

()  Lord,  how  long  to  stay? 
Oh,  let  some  pitying  angel  come 

And  roll  the  stone  away! 

Yet,  while  Thou  givest  ashphodel 

And  wormwood  for  my  food, 
Grant  heavenly  patience  still  to  wait, 

And  faith  to  own  Thee  good. 


After  the  night,  the  glad  morn  breaketh. 
After  the  snow,  the  spring  flower  waketh. 
After  long  thirst,  the  fountain  slaketh. 

So  the  white  dove  of  Peace  came  to  me ! 

Out  of  the  depth  of  o'er-anxious  surmising 
My  plaint  unto  heaven  was  hourly  arising. 
'T  is  turned  to  a  pean  of  mercy  surprising, 
And  love,  which  adoring  I  see. 

My  far-away  darling  from  falling  God  keepeth, 
The  angels  keep  vigil  while  sweetly  he  sleepeth. 
He  toileth  and  reapeth,  and  smileth,  not  weepeth. 
I  sit  by  my  hearthstone  content. 

Take  heart  for  your  burdens,  O  maidens  and   mothers. 
Still  labor  and  plead  for  the  wanderers  and  brothers. 
Then  peacefully  trust.     God's  ways,  and  no  others, 
Are  perfect,  whate'er  the  event. 


BLJ    hips    Qradle-Side, 

[A  young  mother's  reverie  durhiir  a  storm.] 


DAY'S  flickering  sunlight  has  faded  to  shadow. 
A  clamorous  gale  is  on  forest  and  meadow. 
riii-re's  a  ceaseless  roar  from  murmuring  pines, 
And  the  bird's  nest  rocks  in  quivering  vines. 
The  dead  leaves  sail  through  the  eddying  air, 
The  loud  thunders  mutter,  the  red  lightnings  glare. 
But  I  fear  not  the  storm  in  its  deafening  glee, 
While  husband  and  nestling  are  safely  with  me. 

Oh,  ever  the  voice  of  my  baby-girl  seems 

Sweeter  than  music  that  floats  in  my  dreams. 

Oh,  ever  the  glance  of  her  love-beaming  eye 

Has  a  halo  no  flash  of  the  diamond  can  vie. 

Her  slight,  winsome  figure,  with  soft,  sunny  curls, 

Has  a  lovelier  grace  than  a  shower  of  pearls. 

And  her  face  wears  a  beauty,  I  've  thought,  when  she  smiled, 

Like  that  which  adorned  Madonna's  blest  child. 

Then  dearer  than  palace,  the  love-lighted  room, 
Where  the  flower  of  my  heart  is  unfolding  its  bloom ; 
Where  the  bird  of  my  bosom  is  singing  her  song; 
Where  the  light  of  my  life  brings  rapture  alonu. 
Let  the  tempest  sweep  on,  there's  an  inner  shrine  here, 
Where  the  vestal  light  burns  ever  warmly  and  clear, — 
'T  is  affection's  true  altar,  our  own  little  cot. 
Do  what  thou  wilt,  Father, — but,  oh,  harm  it  not! 

[144] 


BY  THE  CRADLE-SIDE.  145 

Oh,  what  could  earth  offer,  on  land  or  on  main, 
To  one  ever  pining  for  loved  ones  in  vain, — 
Whose  heart  is  a  pathway  all  bleeding  and  crushed, — 
Whose  most  cherished  idols  have  crumbled  to  dust? 
For  wounds  such  as  these  the  earth  has  no  balm. 
Such  billows  of  grief  only  Jesus  can  calm. 
Faith  sees  the  loved  child  on  the  glorified  shore, 
Not  lost  altogether — but  gone  just  before! 

Yet  the  mourner  bereft  has  a  sorrow  for  years. 

There  are  nights  of  wild  yearning  and  moments  of  tears,-- 

Quick  thrills  at  the  sound  of  a  much-loved  name, 

And  a  ringlet  or  toy  makes  the  heart  bleed  again. 

Thnnk  God  that  an  angel  still  sleeps  in  my  arms. 

May  sin  never  sully  her  blossoming  charms. 

When  the  night  of  life  ends,  may  the  child  of  my  love 

To  her  mother  be  clasped,  in  the  sweet  Dawn  above ! 


Sisb 


er, 


QfTIE  sat  beside  the  hearth  fire, 
O  For  it  was  chill  November, 
And  fell  to  musing  as  she  watched 

The  slowly  dying  ember. 
Her  heart  was  calm,  that  once  had  glowed 

With  love's  impassioned  flashes. 
She  only  thought  how  like  that  tire 

Some  hopes  had  turned  to  ashes. 

Outdoor  among  the  maples 

The  fitful  gusts  were  blowing, 
And  all  the  gold  and  scarlet  leaves 

Were  on  the  highway  strewing. 
The  birds  that  piped  in  Maytime 

Had  flown  away  together, 
And   sought  the  sunny  Southland 

Before  the  snowy  weather. 

No  more  their  liquid  music 

Would  thrill   in   pensive  gloaming, 
As  once  they  sang  in  days  gone  by, 

When  One  with  her  was  roamin ti- 
ll ark  !     Sings  a  bird  this  moment, 

In  sweet  and  tender  snatches, 
Upon  the  sunny  shingles, 

Near  where  she  stands  and  watches. 
[146] 


STANZAS  INSCRIBED  TO  A  YOUNG  LADY.          147 

Dear  bird !    how  sweet  thy  pleading, 

When  all  have  gone  beside! 
The  last  bird  of  the  Autumn, 

Thou  hast  not  fled,  or  died! 
Take  heart,  O  lonely  spinster, 

Or  gallant  suiter  gray, — 
Though  summer  friends  have  scattered, 

One  still  may  cheer  thy  way. 


Sbapzas  ^Inscribed  bo  a  Young 


AS  gazing  on  a  tress  or  flower, 
Love's  sweetest  memories  oft  awake, 
Thus  haply  may  this  souvenir 
Be  cherished  for  my  sake. 

'T  were  meet  on  friendship's  shrine  to  lay 
The  ripened  fruitage  of  the  brain ; 

Some  sheaves  of  Truth,  where  thou  couldst  stray, 
(Cleaning  the  golden  grain. 

Yet  take  this  bunch  of  violets  blue, 

Breathing  the  odors  of  the  spring, 
Which  I  have  culled,  sweet  friend,  for  you, 
Though  slight  the  offering. 


148  VH>Lh:TS,   HARI.Y  AM)  J.ATK. 

It  is  the  time  of  rippling  rills, 

Of  genial  airs  and  bursting  buds ; 

And  rich,  delicious  music  thrills 
Through  Nature's  solitudes. 

The  thrush  melodiously  pours 

In  greening  groves  her  varied  lay. 

The  wild  bees  hum,  and  the  white  dove  soars 
To  her  cooing  mate  away. 

Oh,  pleasant  days !   when  love  and  mirth, 
Like  sprites  of  beauty,  roam  abroad  ; 

And  as  a  chrysalis  old  Earth 

In  splendor  bursts  her  shroud. 

Thou,  too,  my  friend,  art  in  life's  spring. 

The  sun  of  love  on  thee  hath  shone. 
For  thee  the  rose  is  blossoming, 

Its  thorns  almost  unknown. 

Joy  lends  thy  soul  her  shining  wings, 

And  daydreams  sweet  as  brooklets  run. 

The  air  with  gladsome  music  rings 
And  hope  allures  thee  on. 

Yet  storms  will  burst  on  nature's  bloom, 
And  bleak  will  grow  the  autumn  day; 

No  more  be  heard,  amid  the  gloom, 
The  birds  that  sang  in  May. 

"Yet  mourn  not  spring's  departed  grace. 

Lo!   harvest's  richer  wealth  remains. 
Some  greater  good  in  beauty's  place 

Our  Father  oft  ordains. 


STANZAS  INSCRIBED  TO  A   YOUNG  LADY.          149 

Symbol  of  life !     Our  budding  joys 

Are  often  doomed  to  early  blight. 
'Neath  fortune's  frown  we  miss  some  voice 

That  warbled  'neath  its  light. 

We  hear  not  now  the  thunder-cloud 

That  may  be  gathering  in  the  west. 
We  cannot  see  a  coffined  shroud 

Around  the  form  loved  best. 

We  only  know  our  Lord  employs 

Suffering  as  mercy  in  disguise. 
E'en  from  the  ashes  of  our  joys 

Some  nobler  growth  may  rise. 

Thou  who  wouldst  close  thine  autumn  days 

As  flower-bells  shut  at  set  of  sun, 
With  noble  deeds  and  gentle  ways 

Thy  course  of  duty  run. 

Oli,  live  not  for  thyself  alone. 

Sow  wide  the  seeds  of  truth  and  love. 
A  glorious  harvest  will  be  grown, 

And  heaven  be  thine  above. 


of    bbe    ScGopd-Bopn, 


I. 

[  r\R !    sweetly  sings  the  bluebird,  where  rosy  spring  hath 

\J     been, 

And  fair  the  snow-white  lambkin  that  gambols  on  the  green, 
And  fresh  the  breath  of  roses  that  scent  the  flowery  lea  ; 
But  sweeter  far  this  precious  babe,  O  husband  dear,  to  me ! ' 

II. 

Thus  spake  a  new-made  mother,  in  soft  and  loving  strain, 
'Mid  nature's  tears  rejoicing,  like  sunshine  after  rain. 
'  Sure,  God  will  spare  this  darling.      He   took  our  earliest- 
born  ; 
He  will  not  leave  us  now  again  so  desolate  and  lorn.' 

III. 

But  when  a  single  hour  had  passed,  a  change  crept  o'er  the 

child, 
Its  feeble    breathing   died    away,  and    she  cried,  in    accents 

wild, 

'  Oh,  who  is  that  pale  form  that  stalks  within  the  open  door? 
Is  it  the  stern  death-angel,  and  knocks  he  here  once  more? 

IV. 

'Are  there  not  many  households  where   one  would    less    be 

missed  ? 
Where    numbers    crowd    the    scanty    board,    untutored    and 

unblest  ? 


DEATH  OF  THE  SECOND-BORN.  151 

Are  there  not  many  little  ones  who  grow  to  sin  and  crime, 
Unless  in  mercy  early  borne  from  the  wild  haunts  of  Time  V 

V. 

'  Why  does  Death  seek  our  one  pet    lamb,  our  only  pretty 

flower  ? 

We  had  been  long  alone,  till  this,  love's  latest,  richest  dower. 
And  she  was  sought  in  many  a  prayer;    and,  thanking  our 

dear  Lord, 
,     We  would    have  trained    her  for   Himself,  obedient  to   His 

word. 

VI. 

'  She  should    have  grown  a  noble  woman,  both    loving  and 

beloved. 
Oh,  must  we  drink    this  cup  ?      Death,  canst    thou    not    be 

moved  ? 
How  can  we  ever  be  resigned  ?      O    Thou  who  gav'st  Thy 

Son, 
Help  us  while  agonized  to  cry,  Father,  Thy  will  be  done ! ' 

VII. 
Oh,  hour  of  untold  anguish !      But  the  boon  she  craved    is 

given,— 

She  sees  her  babes  all  glorified,  and  living  still  in  heaven, 
While  on  her  spirit  evermore  such  angel  fragrance  lay 
As  if  she  walked  in  Paradise  and  bore  its  air  away ! 


The    Empby    [ 


T  AST  month,  amid  the  sheltering  shade 
JLJ     Of  a  leafy  locust  near  my  door, 
Two  birds  their  tiny  nest  had  made, 
And  sweetly  singing  flitted  o'er. 

Two  timid,  unfledged  birdlings  there 

Oped  their  expectant  mouths  for  food, 

And  tender  twitterings  woke  the  air, 

And  music  filled  the  listening  wood. 

Now  when  I  gaze  among  the  leaves 

Only  an  empty  nest  I  see. 
The  birds  are  flown,  the  warbling  gone, 

And  shivering  winds  make  plaint  to  me  ! 

My  home  is  like  that  vacant  nest, 

Forsaken,  desolate  and  still  ! 
Last  month  such  treasure  it  posses^  •<} 

As  made  my  cup  of  bliss  o'erfill. 

A  babe  lay  near  my  raptured  heart. 

On  whom  my  fondest  hopes  were  ttmiLC. 
Love  gushed  to  her  from  every  part, 

Like  wealth  of  myrrh  on  zephyrs  flung. 

Today  I  search  each  silent  room, 

One  voice  to  hear,  one  face  to  see. 

'T  is  hushed  and  lone  !     My  bird  has  flown, 
And  a  breaking  heart  sobs  out  in  me! 
[152] 


Libble 


I. 

AS  you  roam  our  modern  Babel, 
'Mongst.  the  ever-surging  throngs, — 
Here,  where  shout  the  shrill-voiced  newsboys, — 

There,  'mid  snatches  of  street  songs, — 
Now,  where  votaries  of  Fashion 

Promenade  in  rich  attire, — 
There,  where  steeds  with  engines  gallop 

Flying  at  the  cry  of  Fire ! — 
Now,  where  'buses,  teams  and  street-cars 

Block  up  traffic's  busy  way, 
While  the  slow  and  ponderous  drawbridge 

Holds  impatient  crowds  at  bay, — 
Shouid  you  find  at  some  street  crossing 

Mite  of  girl,  a  tousel-head, 
Sweeping— sweeping, — know  't  is  "  Broomstick," 

Thus  she  earns  her  daily  bread. 

II. 

"  Little  Broomstick "  her  cognomen. 
Quite  a  heathen,  by  this  omen. 
Hers  no  happy  home  and  mother, 
Telling  of  the  Elder  Brother, 
Soft  repeating  sacred  story 
Of  the  Lord  of  life  and  glory. 
Naught  she  knew  of  holy  Jesus — 
How  He  loves  from  sin  to  free  us, 
Clasps  the  children  in  His  arms, 
[1531 


154  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AM)  LATE. 

Blesses,  shelters  from  alarms. 
Little  Broomstick, — 't  is  no  fable, — 
Dwelt  \vithin  our  modern  Babel. 
But  no  almond-eyed  Celestial, 

In  his  josshouse  bowing  down, 
Was  a  more  benighted  pagan 

Than  tliis  waif  of  Christian  town. 

III. 

Scanty  food  and  long  exposure 

Made  the  wee  maid  weak  and  wan. 
One  day  from  the  crowded  crossing 

Little  Broomstick's  face  was  gone. 
To  the  hospital  they  bore  her; 

Christinas  bells  were  ringing  out, 
Christmas  trees  with  gifts  were  laden, 
"  Merry  Christmas "  was  the  shout. 
"Broomstick"  knew  of  furry  Santa, 

With  his  pack  and  reindeer  steeds, — 
How  he  filled  the  children's  stockings 

While  they  slept  upon  their  beds. 
He  had  naught  for  the  street  sweeper, — 

Gay  old  Santa  loved  her  not ; 
Brought  his  toys  down  rich  folks'  chimneys, 

But  the  poor  he  quite  forgot. 
So  it  seemed  to  this  pale  sufferer, 

Weeping,  lonely,  in  her  cot. 

IV. 

But  the  matron  bent  above  her, 

Laved  and  soothed  each  aching  limb; 

Gently  told  of  God  the  Giver, 
And  the  Babe  of  Bethlehem; 


LITTLE  BROOMSTICK.  '    .      155 

Told  of  song  of  angel  heralds 

Ringing  through  heaven's  arches  then, 
'  Glory  in  the  highest !    Glory ! 

Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men.' 
How  the  Christ-child  dwelt  obedient 

To  His  saintly  mother  dear. 
How,  a  man,  He  went  forth  healing, 

Teaching,  blessing  everywhere, 
Living  sweeter,  nobler,  grander 

Than  e'er  man  had  lived  before; 
And,  though  kinglier  than  all  monarchs. 

Chose  to  dwell  among  the  poor. 

V. 

Loving,  blessing  little  children,— 

Pitying,  changing  evil  heart, — 
Comforting  the  penitent; 

Was  maligned  with  cruel  art, 
Though  no  soul  upon  the  sod 
Walked  so  near  and  like  to  God ; 
Taught  a  gospel,  pure,  sublime, 
That  shall  conquer  every  clime, 
That  shall  outlast  fleeting  time ! 
What 's  true  life  ?     'T  is  loving  nobly,— 

Not  thyself,  nor  sense,  nor  pelf, — 
Chiefly  God;   thy  Elder  Brother; 

Then — thy  neighbor  as  thyself. 
Low  the  woman's  voice,  and  tender, 

With  the  tale  so  old,  yet  new. 
'  This  dear  Jesus  loved  the  whole  world.' 

"  Even  me  ?  "     '  Yes,  Broomstick,  you ! 
Yet  men  hated,  crucified  Him, 

Nailed  Him  on  th'  accursed  tree. 
But  He  lives !   He  loves !   and  ever 


156  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE 

With  Him  all  His  friends  shall  be!' 
Deep  these  truths  sank  in  the  child-soul, 

Much  were  pondered  through  and  through. 
'T  was  so  blessed — 't  was  so  joyful, — 

Oh,  that  all  the  people  knew  ! 
And  the  pale,  pinched  face  grew  radiant, 

Lying  on  the  white-robed  cot, 
And  the  sweet  eyes  filled  with  pity 

For  the  many  knowing  not; 
And  she  longed  to  tell  the  story 

Which  such  peace  to  her  had  brought. 

VI. 

Her  small  hand  she  laid  in  Nurse's, 

When  th'  attendant  came,  one  morn. 
'Nurse!   I'm  hav'n'  right  good  times.     Uid  i/»" 

Know  ''bout  Jesus  bem*  bornf 
"  Yes,  I  know,"  the  nurse  said.     "  Sh !   sh  ! 
Don't  talk. — Yes,  it's  in  tho  book."- 
'  Did  you  ?     Oh,  I  meant  to  tell  you. 

Thought  you  did  n't — from  your  look.' — 
Nurse  grew  curious.     '  How  do  I  look  ?  ' 
'  Oh,  like  most  folks — kind  o'  glum." 
And  her  next  words  were  an  arrow, 

Flying  to  the  mark  straight  home : 
'Shouldn't  think  you'd  look  glum,  ever, 
Knowin'  Jesus  Christ  has  come ! ' 

Friend,  how  much  to  thee  is  Jesus? 
Thou  whose  face  is  curved  with  scorn, — 
Thou  who  lookest  oft  forlorn, — 
Knowst  *  'bout  Jesus  bein'  born  ?  ' 
If  within  thee  burns  a  light, 
Let  it  make  thy  face  beam  bright, — 
Let  it  gladden  others'  night. 


Duty's    Gabe, 


I. 

who  art  ever  present  still, — 
JL      Though  billowy  leagues  between  us  roll, — 
Await  with  me  the  blessed  will, 

The  will  of  God,  Friend  of  my  soul. 

II. 

Today  we  meet  at  Duty's  Gate — 

Behind  us  the  returnless  past, 
Its  bitter,  which  we  felt  w'as  great, 

Its  heavenly  sweet,  that  did  not  last. 

III. 

Stern  Fate  doth  stand,  with  key  in  hand, 
To  lock  the  heavy  gate  between. 

Thou  must  go  forth, — I  stay  behind, — 
And  we  may  never  meet  again. 

IV. 

Where  duty  calls  the  brave  must  be, 

My  king,  my  hero, — though  we  part. 

Heav'n  has  our  highest  fealty. 

I  school — till  it  permit — my  heart. 

V. 

Not  mine  to  tempt  thee  from  the  right, 

Who  love  thee — love  thee — love  thee,  Dear. 
[157] 


158  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

I  need  but  one  fond  word  to  light 
Each  darkly  separating  year. 

VI. 
One  word — one  look — hand  claspt  in  hand, 

All  doubt  removed,  all  pain,  all  it m. 
(Sweet  spirits!   hovering  gently  by, 

Pity,  if  nature  makes  outcry.) 

VII. 
Then  strong  to  part  at  Duty's  Gat". 

Thou  unto  noble,  happy  years, — 
I  still  to  toil,  to  hope,  to  wait, — 

Till  one  our  lives,  or  done  with  tc;u>. 


God's   Wopld, 


I. 

WHEN  green  grasses  are  upspringing 
After  winter's  shrouding  snow, — 
When  the  rivulets  are  singing, 

Gaily  dancing  as  they  go, 
When  the  robin's  strain  is  ringing, 

And  the  skies  are  all  aglow, — 
When  earth  seems  a  new  creation, 

Full  of  beauty,  life  and  love, — 
When  the  heart,   like  feet  to  music, 

With  accordant  joy  doth  move; 
When  soft  winds  sweet   scents  are  bringing 

From  the  banks  where  spring  flowers  blow, 
When  fond   arms  to  us  are  clinging, — 

When  our  plans  no  crossing  know,— 
Oh,  'tis  easy  to  believe 

This  is  GOD'S  WORLD  where  we  live  ! 
Sweet  it  is  in  springtime's  splendor 

God's    all-glorious  thoughts  to  trace ; 
Sweet  to  gain    from  lines   so  tender 

Glimpses  of  His    lovely  face; 
Sweet  to  own  Him  our  defender, 

Blissful  moored  within   His  grace. 
Doubt  its  somber  flag  has  furled  ! 
Sweet  is  life!     This  is  GOD'S  WORLD! 

II. 

When  there  's  no  more  emerald  glory, — 
When  the  stubble-fields  are  bare, — 
[159] 


160  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

When  tbe  winter,  grim  and  hoary, 

Breathes  his  frost-chill  on  the  air, — 
When  the  trees  their  creaking  brandies 

Beat  against  a  leaden  sky,— 
When  the  hearth  is  still  and  lonely 

For  one  face  no  longer  nigh,— 
When  thy  hopes  like  leaves  are  flying 

While  the  blast  goes  howling  by, 
When  the  mills  of  care  are  turning, 

Grinding,  ceaseless,  day  by  day, 
And  thy  soul  for  rest  is  yearning 

Lest  they  grind  thy  life  away, — 
When  thy  brain,  long  overwrought, 

Pictures  forth  some  unknown  bale, 
As,  if  by  the  proud  forgot, — 

As,  if  roof  and  bread  should  fail, — 
When,  by  fears  disquieted, 
Thou  dost  sigh  upon  thy  bed, — 
Soul !   that  with  an  honest  heart 
Strives  to  do  thy  humble   part, 
Bid  each  anxious  thought  depart. 
Doubt,  thy  treason-flag  be  furled ! 
For  it  is  a  good  God's  World. 

III. 

Never  God  a  soul  forgot. 

Let  Him  choose  thy  earthly  lot. 

He  will  better  plan  for  thee 

Than  if  thine  the  choice  should  be. 

Hast  thou,  mother,  ne'er  den  KM  1 

Hurtful  sweets  from  babes  that  cried, 

Plotting  still  some  glad  surprise 

That  should  greet  thy  darling's  eyes? 

'Neath  the  sod  there's  life  still  beating,- 


GOD'S  WORLD.  161 


Soon  the  resurrection  hour. 
Nature,  lovely,  palpitating, 

Shall  biirst  forth  to  perfect  flower. 
Thou  shalt  see    the  heart  of  gold, 
Glories   that  can  ne'er  be  told. 
Thou  art  more  than  lily-bell; 
Trust  Him   who  attires  it  well. 
On  His  palms  thou  'rt  graven  fair ; 
He  will  make   thy  cause  His  care. 
Ways  severe  thou  canst  not  know 
Are  His  rootlets  under  snow. 
Trust  to  find  them,  by  and  by, 
Precious  to  thy  heart  and  eye. 
Faith,  thy  banner  be  unfurled ! 
All  is  well.     THIS  is  GOD'S  WORLD! 


One    (Aorc    DdLj, 

ONE  inure  day — perchance  thy  last. 
Soul,  watch  well  till  it  he  past. 
Spend  it  as  them  wouldst  if  Death 
Should  tonight  arrest  thy  breath. 

Each  day  brings  its  freight  of  can-, 
Something  more  to  do  or  bear. 
Faithful  serve,  that  set  of  sun 
Shine  upon  good  work  well  done. 

Sweetly  bear  when  trials  come. 
Answer  gently,  else  be  dumb. 
Only  one  day's  burden  bear ; 
Trust  Tomorrow  in  God's  care. 

Is  thy  portion  grievous,  sore  ? 
Son  of  God  hath  suffered  more. 
Lift  thy  heart  for  help  divine; 
Heavenly  succor  shall  be  thine. 

Naught  befalls  by  accident. 
All  is  for  thy  welfare  sent. 
Winds  and   rains   but   make  the  tree 
Firmer  grow  and  greener  be. 

All  around  are  storm-swept  souls. 
Passion  raves  and  Pride  controls. 
Pour  thine  oil  upon  the  wave. 
Love,  and  love  alone,  can  save. 
[162] 


Visibo 


'"PHE  night  was  dark ;   the  hour  was  late. 
1.      In  lighted  room  a  lady  sate, 
Nor  heard  the  footfalls  of  far  Fate. 

The  household  faces  all  were  gone. 
Sound,  save  her  busy  pen,  was  none. 
I'  the  lonesome  night  she  was  alone. 

Hearts  may  be  stout  in  rosy  day, 

When  town  and  field  look  blithe  and  gay, 

And  evil,  cowering,  hides  away. 

But  in  the  dark,  how  timorous  we ! 
How  ghostly  loom  the  stump,  the  tree ! 
How  bold  and  base  sin's  troopers  be ! 

Most  helpless  when  upon  our  bed, — 
Sleep's  mandragora  round  us  shed, — 
In  death's  pale  image  we  are  laid ! 

The  lady's  mind  from  fear  was  free ; 
Her  high  thoughts  bore  her  company. 
Goodly  companions  pure  thoughts  be. 

But  striking  clock  and  wearying  brain 
Admonished  that  the  eve  did  wane, 
And  bade  remit  tired  nature's  strain. 
[163] 


164  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Then  every  door  she  locked  with  care; 

To  snow-white  couch  did  calm  repair, 

And  breathed  to  God  her  childhood's  prayer; 

"  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep. 
I  pray  Thee,  Lord,  my  scul  to  keep. 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  Thee,  Lord,  my  soul  to  take; 
And  this  I  ask  for  Jesus'  sake." 

With  all  the  world  she  was  at  peace. 

She  wished — whate'er  her  God  might  please. 

From  anxious  dread  her  soul  had  ease. 

Sleep  soothed  her  with  his  poppy  wreath. 
She  seemed, — so  soft,  so  low  her  breath, — 
A  sculptured  marble — or  like  death. 

Silence,  how  deep!     The  clock  strikes  one. 
The  "  wee,  sma'  hours "  creep  stilly  on. 
The  awesome  dark  hath  deeper  grown. 

One  witli  a  weird  and  solemn  mien 
Moves  shadowy  o'er  the  lonely  green, 
And  through  the  lady's  door  goes  in. 

Oh,  where  are  lock  and  barrier  now  ? 
Oh,  is  he  friend  or  is  he  foe  'J. 
Or  to  a  lover's  tryst  doth  go  ? 

Noiseless,  unerring  was  his  tread 
To  where  she  slept,  on  peaceful  bed 
*  Sweet  one,  I  do  God's  will,'  he  said. 


THE  VISITOR  BY  NIGHT.  165 

One  kiss  he  laid  on  cheek  and  brow. 
She  did  not  start  at  lips  of  snow. 
More  faint  her  breath  did  come  and  go. 

Then  all  was  still,  and  by  her  side 
He  sat  him  down  till  morning-tide ; 
And  when  her  friends  came,  said,  *  My  bride ! ' 

They  saw  the  visitor  was  DEATH  ! 
No  human  touch  she  sank  beneath, 
But,  sleeping,  sweetly  ceased  to  breathe; 

And  passed,  without  a  long  decay, 
From  night  of  earth  to  heavenly  day, — 
From  childhood's  prayer  to  glory's  lay ! 


Tesb   of   Poetry, 


T  IKE  mountain  peaks  that  lift  tbeir  snowy  brows 

i_j  Nearest  to  heaven's  blue, 

So  grand  old  Homer,  graceful  Sappho,  rose. 

So  Dante,  Milton,  rare  Will  Shakspeare  grew 
To  heights  sublime;   and  still  their  luster  glows 

With  brighter  glories  in  our  centuries'  view. 

Yet  beauty  dwells  as  well  in  foothill's  curve; 

And  many  a  bell-like  song 
Not  eagle's,  soaring  with  unfaltering  nerve, 

Doth  wake  sweet  echoes  in  the  valley  long; 
And  hymns  no  tragic  muse  inspired  oft  serve 

To  rouse  or  soothe  the  soul  and  turn  from 

Few  are  creators  of  transcendent  verse. 

Yet  some  may  dare  to  sing 
Who  are  for  genius  tit  interpreters. 

No  Iliads  or  Infernos  they  may  bring, 
But  at  their  bidding  deep  emotion  stirs, 

And  better  purposes  to  being  spring. 


use  is  the  true  test  of  poet  speech. 
All  else  will  surely  die. 

To  know  one  heart,  in  all  its  moods,  will  teach 
T'  interpret  truly  others'  thought  or  sigh  — 
/>>/  NO;///  to  lift  the  triirf'/'a  heart  —  were  to  reach 
The  height  of  poets'  immortality. 
[166] 


Busings, 


IN  the  dim  and  pensive  twilight, 
When  the  somber  shadows  fall  ; 
When  day's  noisy  babble  ceases, 

And  the  nightwings  brood  o'er  all  ; 

When  the  humble  'task  is  ended,  — 

Patient  toil  and  passion's  strife,  — 

Sitting  by  my  lonely  fireside, 
I  bethink  me  of  my  life. 

I  have  passed  youth's  rosy  morning, 

With  its  hilltops  flecked  with  gold,- 

Felt  the  noonbeams  fiercely  burning,  — 
Creeps  my  twilight  gray  and  cold. 

Swift  the  precious  sands  are  dropping 
From  the  unfilled  glass  of  time. 

I  must  rouse,  or  lose  a  record 

Writ  in  words  and  deeds  sublime. 

Oh,  the  dreams,  the  aspirations, 
Fancy-tinted,  scarce  defined,  — 

Castles  paved  with  rare  mosaic, 

Fondly  in  my  heart  enshrined  ! 

Sacredly  have  ye  been  cherished. 

Will  ye  crumble  into  dust? 
Shall  I  reap,  for  all  your  sowing, 

Blossoms  scattered  by  a  gust? 
[167J    , 


168  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AX1>  LATE. 

Something  of  life's  charm  has  faded, 
Like  the  mistwreaths  of  the  morn ; 

And  the  thundercloud  has  shaded 
Brilliant  prophecies  of  dawn. 

While  I  muse,  the  years  departed 

Pass  with  glancing  sheen  and  shade; 

Pilgrim  feet  with  mine  that  started, 
Early  tired,  and  lowly  laid. 

How  the  old,  familiar  faces 

Tremble  on  the  dusky  gloom! 

How  the  unforgotten  faces 

Start  to  life  and  fill  the  room! 

I  would  clasp  yon  lovely  cherubs, 

Babes  that  in  my  arms  have  lain ; 

But  they  vanish.     I  can  never 

Win  those  shining  ones  again. 

Oh,  the  aching  and  the  longing ! 

Oh,  the  dull  and  crushing  pain ! 
Ah !    there  is  a  world  of  sorrow 

In  the  thought — It  might  have  been  ! 

Had  they  lived,  what  saintly  beauty 

Might  have  crowned  their  ripened  bloom ! 

Nay!    they  float  in  richer  splendors — 

Heaven  exchanged  for  sorrow's  doom. 

Praise  to  Thee,  adored  Redeemer, 
For  the  love  my  life  has  known. 

Thou  hast  wounded,  but  in  mercy. 

Be  my  chastened  heart  Thine  own. 


WAITING  NEAR  THE  RIVER.  169 

Thus  amid  the  twilight  shadows 

Angel  benisons  descend. 
Labor  will  seem  holier,  deeming 

Heavenly  visitants  attend. 


Waibing    (^eai;    bh 


"1XTEAR  the  Dark  River  I  tearfully  stand, 

IN     Awaiting  my  Lord's  most  solemn  command, 

To  sail  for  the  unseen,  the  Mystical  Land. 

One  fond,  lingering  look  I  take  ere  I  go. 
Strong  are  the  ties  that  bind  me  below, 
But  heaven  is  better  and  fairer,  I  know. 

Farewell,  then,  to  home,  thou  ark  of  my  rest! 
True  love  was  the  sweet  singing-bird  of  my  nest, 
And  Faith  its  guardian-angel  confessed. 

Farewell  to  bright  dreams  of  merited  fame — 

Of  thoughts  that  should  glow  with  genius'  pure  flame. 

Like  castles  they  faded  in  air  as  they  came. 

Farewell  to  labor,  most  precious  and  sweet — 
Gathering  sheaves  for  the  Master  meet — 
Casting  crowns  at  the  Savior's  feet! 


170  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATh. 

Farewell,  then,  to  life,  its  hopes  and  its  fears. 
Ended  its  cares,  its  joys  and  its  tears. 
Thrice  welcome  be  Heaven's  celestial  years. 

Pitying  Savior!   one  will  be  lone 

When  the  friend  from  his  side  forever  is  gone. 

Tenderly  round  him  let  Thine  arms  be  thrown. 

When  the  pathway  of  life  grows  rugged  and  wild, 
Let  memories  come  of  companion  and  child, 
And  solace  him,  as  though  an  angel  had  smiled! 

A  thrilling  voice  from  the  radiant  shore, 
And  a  form  of  grace,  now  woo  me  o'er. 
I  know  that  face  for  my  heart's  own  flower ! 

Vision  of  loveliness !     Oh,  can  it  be 
That  shining  immortal  is  beckoning  me  ? 
Child  of  my  soul,  I  come  unto  thee ! 

Elysium  of  bliss !     My  mourning  is  done. 
I  float  like  a  bird  in  the  beams  of  the  sun, 
And  the  long-lost  pearl  of  my  bosom  is  won ! 

Father  all-glorious!   Thee  I  adore, 

Who  bearest  our  doves  from  earth's  durkencd  door, 

That  they  may  be  ours,  in  heaven,  evermore ! 


I    ressed  P1  lowers  from  tpe  Qand  of 


The  following  seven  numbers  were  composed  between  the  ages  of 
fifteen  and  seventeen,  and  have  been  revised  by  the  author. 


er, 


nnllE  silvery  fount  may  cease  to  flow, 
1.      The  floweret's  hues  no  longer  glow, 
But  all  that 's  bright  in  heaven  above 
Is  like  a  mother's  quenchless  love. 
More  constant  than  the  stars  that  glow, 
More  pure  than  flakes  of  stainless  snow, 
More  bright  than  rainbows  e'en,  that  quiver 
Upon  a  dark  and  mist-hung  river, 
A  Mother's  love  must  always  be, 
When  in  unsullied  purity. 
'T  is  Mother  rocks  our  cradled  sleep. 
'T  is  Mother  soothes  us  when  we  weep. 
In  time  of  sickness  or*  of  pain, 
'T  is  Mother  calms  the  weary  brain. 
And  through  the  devious  range  of  life, 
In  joy,  in  sadness  or  in  strife, 
A  Mother  still  appears  in  view — 
A  woman,  yet  an  angel,  too ! 

My  sister,  lives  thy  Mother  yet  ? 
Oh,  ne'er  her  precious  words  forget. 
Prize  every  whisper  of  her  voice, 
And  make  her  aged  heart  rejoice. 
Be  kind  to  Mother ;    though  she  's  old, 
Her  sensibility  's  not  cold, — 
Though  winters  have  around  her  fled, 
And  left  their  snows  upon  her  head. 
[173] 


174  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

She  soon  may  reach  her  heavenly  home, 

And  thou  be  left  to  weep  alone. 

Then  thou  wilt  miss  her  meek,  mild  face, 

Her  gentle  smile,  her  quiet  grace; 

Wilt  weep  that  thou  didst  strew  her  hours 

With  thorns,  where  should  have  been  but  flowers! 

Thou  hast  kind  friends  around  thy  path 
While  lives  thy  father,  sister,  brother; 

But  love  like  hers  none  other  hath. 

O  God!   I  thank  Thee  for  my  Mother! 


ous 


OH,  the  soul  cannot  find  in  this  wide  world  its  rest. 
Life's  cares  are  consuming,  its  mirth  is  unblest. 
Earth's  pleasures  are  fading  as  dew-honeyed  flowers, 
That  bloom  but  an  hour  in  the  loveliest  bowers. 

Then  lay  up  your  treasure  in  yon  world  of  joy, 
Where  bliss  is  eternal,  and  naught  can  alloy  ; 
Where  music  entrancing  fills  Heaven's  high  dome; 
Where  the  loved  and  the  long-lost  will  welcome  you  home. 


I3is!llusiop. 


FRIENDS  more  dear  than  words  can  tell, 
And  friends  that  seem  to  love  us  well, 

May  fail  when  needed  most. 
May  die,  like  flowers  when  summer  's  done, 
Or  change  like  tints  at  set  of  sun, 
Betraying  sacred  trust. 

Fame's  charmed  waters  wildly  quaffed, 
And  Love's  still  more  beguiling  draught, 

Oft  leave  a  bitter  taste. 
Deluded  we  may  drink  the  cup, 
The  heart's  rich  fragrance  offer  up, 

Alas !   to  run  to  waste. 

Friendship  is  often  light  as  air, 
And  Flattery  proves  as  false  as  fair, 

And  Youth's  dear  dreams  depart. 
E'en  Hope,  sweet  angel,  still  has  wings, 
And  sometimes  soars,  while  yet  she  sings, — 

What  then  is  left,  O  heart? 

Turn,  yearning  spirit,  from  the  sod, 
Thy  wealth  of  love  devote  to  God, 

In  nobler  service  given. 
Tossed  long  on  life's  tempestuous  foam, 
Thou  'It  find  at  last  thy  peaceful  home, 

And  perfect  love,  in  Heaven. 
[175] 


•A    Sonq    of    Qbeer, 

**J  t  < 


OH,  never  surrender  your  faith  or  your  heart 
To  the  goblins  of  terror  and  sadness. 
If  a  cloud  is  in  view,  there  's  a  rainbow,  too. 
Press  onward,  white  soul,  in  thy  gladness. 

Remember,  when  pierced  by  the  briars  of  life, 

The  rosebud  is  near  to  the  thorn, 
And  dreariest  night  oft  bringeth  the  light 

Of  fairest  and  loveliest  morn. 

Though  sorrows  encompass,  and  dangers  attend, 

Though  man  passeth  loftily  by, 
Yet  never  despond,  for  a  change  in  the  wind 

Will  chase  the  dark  fog  from  the  sky. 

These  trials  our  Maker  in  wisdom  ordained ; 

They  are  destined  to  chasten  or  prove  us. 
We  all  should  appear,  like  gold  in  the  fire, 

More  bright  when  the  heat  is  above  us. 

Though  fortune  should  frown,  and  thy  fellows  forsake, 

Or  insidious  rumors  surround   thro. 
Yet  live  them  all  through;   they  will  vanish  like  dc\\, 

If  virtue  be  only  around  thee. 

Then  never  despair;   but  rather  endure, 

With  stern  and  unfaltering  soul ; 
Press  onward  still  higher,  to  Heaven  draw  nigher, — 

Thy  destiny  God  will  control. 
[176] 


Poeb 


OH,  a  poet's  heart  is  a  sensitive  thing; 
A  timid  bird,  with  a  fluttering  wing; 
A  lyre  whose  chords  are  thrillingly  sweet, — 
Whose  texture  is  fragile,  its  melody  fleet. 
When  rudely  't  is  handled,  the  once  flowing  strain 
Is  turned  from  entrancing  to  discords  of  pain, 
Till  the  harp  whose  sweetness  delighted  us  ever 
Lies  shattered  and  silent,  forever!   forever! 


ieu. 


7t  DIEU,  sweet  friends,     The  sad  parting  hour 
X~i.     Now  comes  o'er  our  spirits,  like  frost  o'er  the  flower. 
How  mournfully  like  to  some  slow-tolling  knell 
The  desolate  sound  of  that  one  word,  Farewell ! 
Broad  rivers  and  plains  our  fortunes  may  sever, 
On  earth  we  may  meet  again  never,  O  never! 
Yet  the  Bird  of  Remembrance,  a  sweet,  viewless  thing, 
Will  hover  around  us  and  pleasantly  sing 
Of  hours  long  past,  and  of  friends  whose  forms 
Seem  ever  to  shine  'mid  the  dreariest  storms. 
Oh,  may  love's  chain,  now  tearfully  riven, 
Still  link  us  to  God  and  each  other,  in  heaven! 

[177] 


Ppemopibion, 


hither  my  harp!     I  will  waken  thy  strain. 
VJ     Sweet  harmony's  numbers  should  soften  my  pain. 
Thy  music  oft  gives  me  an  exquisite  thrill, 
But  life's  emptied  chalice  thou  canst  not  refill. 
Alas!   my  harp  is  a  fragile  thing. 
'T  is  a  wounded  bird,  with  a  broken  wing  ; 
A  garland  of  roses  whose  beauty  is  fled, 
Still  scenting  the  air  with  the  fragrance  they  shed; 
'T  is  a  moonbeam  that  shimmers  when  daylight  is  gone  ; 
A  mountain's  last  echo,  when  trumpets  are  done; 
A  barque  slowly  drifting  on  night's  cheerless  sea; 
An  infant  falling  asleep  in  its  glee; 
A  tone  from  melody's  tenderest  strain, 
Which  mounteth,  then  melteth   in  silence  again. 
'T  is  like  beauteous  birds,  that  heavenward  fly  ; 
'Tis  like  all  bright  things  that  earliest  die. 


[178] 


I    oems  of 


/I    oems  o|    <<ppecia 


'ccosions. 


Reuniop    Poem, 


[Head  at  the  Annual  Meeting  of  the  Early  Settlors  of  Lee  County,  Illinois, 
Septembrr  3,  1885.] 


ALL  hail !    and  welcome  !    yeomen,  veterans,  friends ! 
Ye  Early  Settlers  of  the  shire  of  Lee. 

The  benediction  that  from  ill  forefends, — 

The  smile  of  Heaven, — rest  on  you  royally, 
And  mark  in  white  this  day  in  memory. 

Ye  toil  worn  chieftains  of  the  clans,  all  hail ! 
And  venerated  dames,  thrice  welcome  ye ! 

Gathered  from  farm,  from  town,  from  hill,  from  dale, 

Ye  are  the  heroes  for    our  poet's  tale; 

Sad  were  our  meeting,  should  your  presence  fail. 

Assembled  in  this  goodly  company, — 

This  worthy  seat  of  learning  at  our  side, — 

Fair  Ashton,  with  the  prosperous  farms  of  Lee, 
Unrolling  to  our  vision  far  and  wide, — 
What  more  need  modest  mortal  ask  beside  ? 

Thrift,  order,  peace,  health  and  security ! 

And  yet  what  contrasts  from  the  early  years, 

So  well  remembered  by  these  pioneers ! 

The  hardships  of  the  present  shrivel  when 

Confronted  with  those  met  so  bravely  then. 

Fresh  from  an  Eastern  home  when  you  were  young, 
By  glowing  tales  of  the  Far  West  beguiled, 

With  long  farewells  your  kindred's  hands  you  wrung, 
To  seek  your  fortunes  in  the  prairies  wild.    . 
[181] 


182  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE 

No  railroads  here  those  fifty  years  ago; 

No  bridge  o'er  slough.     Travel  was  hard  and  slow. 

The  ox-team  and  the  prairie  schooner  brought 

To  Illinois  its  old-time.  Argonaut. 

Chicago  was  an  embryo  in  the  bud, — 

A  water-lily,  sprung  from  marsh  and  mud. 

In  those  primeval  days  when  we  came  West, 

Black  Hawk  but  lately  had  been  dispossessed. 

Wild  game  roamed  o'er  the  gra<sv  plain, 

Fair  target  for  the  marksman's  aim. 

You  built  your  homes  of  log  or  Hoosier  board; 

They  were  but  small,  but  held  your  little  hoard. 

Your  neighbors  then  were  few  and  far  away ; 

But  oh,  what  hospitality  held  sway ! 

What  cheer!   what  helping  hands!   what  kindly  jest! 

The  good  old  days  are  gone  that  were  so  blest. 

Up  with  the  singing  lark  at  earliest  morn, 

You  broke  the  virgin  sod,  you  dropt  the  corn. 

At  length,  with  summers  sun,  your  wheattields  rolled 

A  broad  and  billowy  sea  of  yellow  gold. 

The  harvester  unknown,  you  *  cradled '  then. 

Indoors  your  good  wives  cradled  little  men ! 

Those  lively  chaps !   how  fast  they  came  and  grew ! 

You  built  the  schoolhouse,  and  the  chapel,  too ; 

You  built  the  future  better  than  you  knew  ! 

The  public  school,  the  church,  are  towers  of  strength. 

They  make  the  state  impregnable  at  length. 

To  politics  you  gave  some  sturdy  thought. 
Stood  at  the  polls;  your  vote  was  never  bought. 
When  baby  prattlers  suddenly  grew  dumb, 
In  some  sequestered  spot,  where  wild  bees  hum, 


REUNION  POEM.  183 

In  meadow-grasses  sweet,  or  clover  bloom, 
All  tenderly  ye  gave  "  God's  acre '    room. 
And  so  your  hearts  and  granaries  grew  full. 

And  so  the  villages  like  magic  sprung. 
And  so  you  reared  your  mansions  beautiful, 

And  ponderous  bells  in  high  church-steeples  swung. 

One  day  the  locomotive's  whistle  rent 

The  stillness  of  the  country  atmosphere !     . 
You  saw,  on  iron  rails,  the  first  train  sent, 

And  then  the  world  of  travel  all  was  here. 
The  hour  would  fail  your  bard  to  fitly  tell 
The  wondrous  changes  that  the  land  befell. 
The  civil  war — its  knells  are  in  your  hearts.  L 
For  some  wrho  bravely  fell  the  teardrop  starts. 
But  should  you  wish  the  fuller  tale's  repeating, 
Come  next  year  to  the  Early  Settlers'  meeting. 

Then  hail!   and  welcome!   yeomen,  veterans,  friends! 

Ye  Early  Settlers  of  the  shire  of  Lee ! 
The  benediction  that  from  ill  forefends, — 

The  smile  of  Heaven, — rest  on  you  royally, 

And  mark  in  white  this  day  in  memory. 
Ye  toilworn  chieftains  of  the  clans,  all  hail ! 

And  venerated  dames,  thrice  welcome  ye ! 
Gathered  from  farm,  from  town,  from  hill,  from  vale, 
Ye  are  the  heroes  for  the  Muses'  tale. 
May  heaven  receive  you  when  from  earth  ye  fail. 


[for   a    Goldep    Weddincj, 

[Composed  while  waiting  at  a  railroad  dei>ot.j 


youthful  hearts,  in  days  of  ol<l, 
i.      At  Love's  sweet  tale  grew  tender; 
Love  touched  the  hills  of  life  with  gold, — 
Love  filled  the  air  with  splendor. 

Full  fifty  years  that  wedded  pair 
Have  trod  the  way  together, 

Doubling  the  joys,  halving  the  pain, 
In  shine  and  cloudy  weather. 

Again  the  chime  of  wedding-bells 
Brings  joy  without  restriction, 

And  crowds  salute  that  veteran  pair 
With  golden  benediction. 

Oh,  blessings  on  their  aged  heads! 

Serene  be  skies  above  them! 
Their  souls  be  calm  with  Heaven's  pi- act-, 

And  cheered  by  those  who  love  them. 

And  when  life's  gold  grows  dim  and  cold,- 
Still  kept  in  Heaven's  pity, — 

May  their  glad  feet  walk  golden  street, 
And  rest  in  Golden  City! 


[184J 


Sbanzas« 


[Read  before  the  Chicago  Congregational  Ministers'  Union,  at  the  First 
J  Congregational  Church,  December  15,  1874.] 


I. 

weary  year  to  his  end  draws  near, 
JL      And  lies  a-cold,  on  his  frosty  bier. 
The  holidays  come,  when  the  sons  who  roam 
Find  Mecca  and  shrine  with  the  Old  Folks  at  Home. 
By  the  hearthstone  bright  of  our  Mother,  tonight, 

A  goodly  band,  we  joyfully  meet. 
Some,  seaward  wandering  from  our  sight, 

With  a  hearty  '  Welcome  home '  we  greet , 
And  tender  voices  and  clasp  of  hands 
For  absence  long  shall  make  amends. 

II. 

Kindred  in  toil  for  our  common  Lord, 

Kindred  in  soul  and  in  life's  grand  aim, 

Heart  beats  to  heart  with  a  warm  accord, 
And  each  in  each  may  a  brother  claim. 

Let  gladness  rule  this  festal  hour, — 

Let  wisdom  yield  her  priceless  store, 

And  wit  its  iridescent  ore, 

And  friendship  cull  her  sweetest  flower. 

The  banquet 's  spread  with  a  royal  cheer. 

The  children  are  home !     Are  we  not  all  here  ? 

HI. 

Is  there  a  spot  in  the  world  so  fair 
That  sorrow's  shadow  falls  not  there  ? 

[185J 


186  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AM)   LATE. 

E'en  now  some  woman  is  waiting  without 

Some  wretch's  return  from  his  bacchanal  bout. 

"Some  orphan  in  rags,  on  the  pavement  below, 

Shivers  and  quakes,  with  nowhere  to  go ! 

God  pity  them!   pity  them!   care  for  us  all! 

This  doomful  year  the  funeral  pall    - 

Twice  darkened  our  sunshine!     We  own  with  a  tear. 

And  a  sense  of  loss — We  're  not  all  here ! 

When  spring  with  its  delicate  bloom  came  on, 
Each  gem  in  our  circle  resplendently  shone. 
Their  presence  that  cheered  lies  hidden  below 
The  mold  of  the  earth  and  the  cold,  cold  snow. 
The  teacher  revered, — of  golden-mouth'd  speech, 
Brave  thinker,  yet  gentle  as  woman  to  earli, 
Another  of  queenly  figure  and  mien, — 
Ah !   crowned  by  the  angels  too  soon,  I  ween. — 
They  left  us  but  mem'ries  of  all  they  have  been. 
There's  a  tremulous  strain  that  thrills  the  ear. 
'T  is  the  sad  refrain, — We  're  NOT  all  here ! 

We're  not  all  here!     Then  closer  draw- 
Snug  up  the  circle  while  ye  may. 

Cherish  more  warmly,  for  ye  know 

Some  pearl  may  speedily  drop  away. 

The  heart  of  another  ye  may  not  guess 

Nor  know  its  need  of  tenderness. 

In  coming  days,  when  ye  shall  meet, 

There  will  be  often  a  vacant  seat. 

God  grant  at  last  we  may  all  appear, 

And  say,  This  is  Heaven!    WK'HK  AM.,  ALL   IIKUI-:! 


ns 

Composed  forandsmigattheQuarter-Centonnial  Celebration  of  the  General 
Congregational  Association  of  Illinois,  at  Farmington,  May  27, 1  (',9. 


fAcrponal    (Dde. 
Tune  —  "  America." 


I. 

OTHOU  all-perfect  Lord, 
By  angel  hosts  adored, 

Thy  praise  we  sing. 
Humbly  thy  churches  call, 
Come,  grace  our  festival, 
Pour  Thy  rich  wine  for  all, 
O  Christ,  our  King. 

II. 

Back  o'er  the  vista'd  past 
Our  grateful  eyes  we  cast, 

And  trace  Thy  hand. 
For  seeds  in  weakness  sown 
See  golden  harvests  shown — 
Thy  scattered  saints  have  grown 

A  num'rous  band. 

III. 

The  fathers,  where  are  they, 
True  vet'rans  of  the  fray  ? 

Heaven  bless  our  bravss ! 
[1ST] 


188  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Some  rest  from  mortal  care, — 
Some  still  the  harness  wear, — 
The  almond  in  their  hair 
Its  blossoms  waves. 

IV. 

Our  and  our  fathers'  Lord, 
By  seraph  choirs  adored, 

AVondrous  and  great  ! 
Gathered  from  lake  and  plain, 
We  swell  the  suppliant  strain, 
God  bless  this  fair  domain- 
God  save  the  Stale ! 


Lool<;ipg  Poptoard:  Or,  !fjpe  Land  of  blpc  forever. 
Tune  —  "  Shall  We  Gather  at  the  River?  " 


I. 

WHEN  we  cross  the  mystic  river. 
And  our  mortal  life  is  o'er, 
In  the  Land  of  the  Forever, 

Shall  we  gain  the  golden  shore  ? 
Nevermore  with  grief  to  quiver, 
But  beautiful  and  purified  forever— 
Nevermore  with  loved  ones  to  sever — 
Safe  on  that  blissful  shore. 

II. 

When  the  fateful  books  are  opened, 
And  the  judgment  court  is  set, — 


LOOKING  FORWARD.  0  189 

When  each  pastor  with  his  people 

And  a  countless  throng  have  met, — 
Shall  we  hear  the  glad  evangel 

Of  '  Well  done,  faithful,'  from  our  dear  Lord's  angel  ? 
Shall  sweet  welcomes  greet  us  to  the  Crystal, 

Swelling  our  rapture  yet  ? 

III. 

What  if  from  the  awful  Presence 

Our  reverseless  doom  should  be, 
'  Faithless  shepherds  to  my  creatures, 

Ye  have  faithless  been  to  Me ! ' 
Could  we  bear  the  accusing  faces 
We  never  tried  to  mold  to  heavenly  graces  ? 
What  if  we  should  win  the  shining  places, 

And  starless  our  crown  should  be  ? 

IV. 

Savior,  low  we  take  our  station. 

Hear  the  churches'  fervent  call. 
Clothe  Thy  heralds  with  salvation, — 

Tongues  of  fire  anew  let  fall. 
Help  us  tell  the  touching  story, — 
The  beautiful,  the  wonderful,  true  story, 
How  the  loving  Lord,  the  Prince  of  Glory, 

Died  to  redeem  us  all ! 


!    bbe  /AuFFIed  EDrurps  arc  Beabipg! 

DIRGE  FOB  GENERAL  GRANT. 


[Tune—  "  Hark,  the  Voice  of  Jesus  Calling,"  by  H.  K.  Palmer,  puirr   >  »i 
"The  Gospel  in  Song." 


I. 

T_T  ARK !    the  muffled  drums  are 
Il       Soft  and  slo\v, 

Notes  of  wo. 
O'er  the  brave  chant  love's  last  greeting, 

Ere  we  lay  him  low. 
Deeper  swells  the  lamentation, — 
Low  degree  and  lofty  station, — 
'T  is  the  wailing  of  a  nation 

For  its  Chief  laid  low  ! 

II. 

Ended  now  the  weary  marches, — 

Bivouack'd  here, 

On  a  bier. 
Sentry  stars  keep  silent  watches 

All  the  livelong  year. 
Spread  his  tent  with  roses  blowing, — 
Winter  snowy  whiteness  strewing, 
Flags  of  victory  o'er  him  flowing. 

Who  hath  conquered  Fear! 
[190] 


DIRGE  FOR  GENERAL  GRANT. 

III. 

Whence  the  people's  vast  devotion  ? 

Humbly  born, 

Simply  bred, 
Loyal,  brave,— in  war's  commotion 

He  Columbia  led.  , 

Silent,  firm ; — mistake  is  human  ; — 
Grand  in  action,  one  of  few  men, — 
Warrior !    hero  !    Christian  !   true  Man  ! 

Laurels  deck  his  head ! 

IV. 

Now,  with  Peace'  pure  banner  o'er  thee, 

Sweetly  rest 

On  earth's  breast. 
They  will  emulate  who  love  thee, 

East  and  mighty  West. 
When  shall  fade  thy  fame  from  story  ? 
Not  when  soldier-sires  are  hoary, — 
Ne'er  while  lives  the  Union's  glory,— 

Land  thou  lov'dst  the  best ! 


s  I3ay  Salubabion  oP  bhc  Carrier, 

January  1,  1859.    (Took  the  prize. » 


H^O  our  numerous  friends  and  our  patrons  dear, 
JL      As  the  form  of  the  Old  Year  vanishes  fast, 
And  its  swallow-like  joys  on  light  wings  have  passed 
For  pleasures  the  sweetest  may  not  always  last, — 
Your  Carrier  wishes  a  Happy  New  Year. 

A  Happy  New  Year!     What  visions  it  brings, — 
Of  gifts  for  the  children  of  curious  things, — 
Of  greetings  of  young  hearts  unfettered  by  care, 
Of  silvery  laughter  rung  out  on  the  air, — 
Of  joyful  reunions  of  circles  long  broken, — 
Of  tearful  adieus  that  are.  tenderly  spoken ; 
And  as  days  of  the  New  Year  pass  dreamily  by, 
What  pictures  of  sunshine  or  shade  meet  our  eye! 
Today,  icy  torrents  and  glittering  snows. 
Anon,  singing  rills  and  scent  of  wild-rose. 
Next  season,  young  song-birds  will  mount  from  the  nrsi. 
And  infantile  forms  be  by  young  mothers  pressed. 
Lips  red  as  wet  coral,  and  eyes  of  soft  blue, 
And  velvety  fingers  with  touch  light  as  dew, 
Will  bring  more  delight  to  a  fond  parent's  heart 
Than  earth's  richest  treasures  could  ever  impart. 
But  a  shadow  will  creep  over  many  a  wall; 
Full  many  a  loved  one  be  laid  'neath  the  pall. 
The  beaming-eyed  maiden  with  bridal  wreath, 
When  a  few  months  are  past,  niav  lie  sleeping  in  death. 

[192J 


'-  YEAR 'S  DA Y  SAL  UTA  TION.  193 

"For  life  's  a  kaleidescope, — turn  it  at  will, 
The  scenes  it  presents  are  varying  still. 

'  But,  Carrier,  what  of  the  year  that  is  dead, 

The  old  man  forgotten  and  lone  ?  ' 
Methinks  you  say.     '  We  are  ling'ring  to  read 
Some  record  of  what  he  hath  done.' 

To  the  burial-place  of  the  monarch  we  go. 

A  tablet  we  rear  for  the  king  laid  low ; 

His  epitaph  write,  for  his  deeds  we  know. 

Twelve  daughters  had  he  of  varying  charms. 

Like  a  garland  of  flowers  they  drooped  in  his  arms ! 

At  dead  of  last  night  the  youngest-born  died, 

And  father  and  daughters  lie  side  by  side ! 

His  career  'mid  the  nations  was  gorgeous  and  great — 

An  era  to  science  and  matters  of  state. 

The  bubble  of  wild  speculation  burst, 

And  meek-brow'd  religion  arose  from  its  dust. 

American  commerce,  that  pond'rous  machine, 

With  its  numberless  wheels  turned  by  millions  of  men, 

With  its  railroads,  its  steamships,  its  lightning  expresses, 

Its  huge  manufactures,  its  swift  printing-presses, 

Its  star-spangled   banner,  on  all  seas  unfurl'd, 

Its  field  of  adventure,  as  wide  as  the  world, — 

This  fabric  so  vast  felt  a  sudden  sensation, 

An  electric  shock  to  its  very  foundation. 

God  arrested  this  Babel  of  human  pride, 

And  confusion  and  terror  fell  heavy  and  wide. 

Blight  crept  on  the  fields — the  markets  declined, 

Vast  fortunes  departed,  like  chaff  in  the  wind, 

Till  the  fair  dome  of  commerce  all  prostrate  lay 

Like  miniature  houses  of  children  at  play, 


194  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND   LATH. 

Where  with  one  falling  brick  all  have  toppled  away. 

The  past  should  not  teach  us  a  lesson  in  vain. 

It  counsels  a  system  of  honorable  gain ; 

Of  patience,  economy,  honesty,  skill, 

And  a  Christian-like  trust;   and  to  commerce  shall  still 

A  pedestal  broader  and  grander  arise, 

With  a  column  of  grace  pointing  up  to  the  skies. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  that  earthquake  in  trade, 
Men,  feeling  their  helplessness,  sought  divine  aid. 
The  prayer-room  was  crowded  at  noonday  and  night, — 
The  Spirit  descended — the  blind  saw  the  light ; 
And  hundreds  and  thousands  of  stout  hearts  bowed, 
And  their  burdens  fell  off  at  sight  of  the  Lord. 
In  the  landscape  of  time  that  revival  will  be 
God's  lighthouse  from  heaven  on  life's  dreary  sea! 

But  hark !   what  hosannas  of  rapture  are  heard 
Rolling  up  from  the  Eastern  main  ? 

While  valley,  and  hilltop,  and  mountain  and  wood 
Re-echo  the  chorus  again  ? 

A  pean  in  honor  of  science  they  sing, 

For  mind  over  matter  again  is  king. 

'Mid  the  surges  of  ocean  the  CABLE  is  laid, 

And  the  harnessed  lightning  man's  message  conveyed. 

Magnificent  thought !    culmination  of  art  ! 

Two  continents  wedded,  while  widely  apart ! 

Then  ring  out  the  anthem,  sweep  music's  rich  kcy>. 

Unfurl  our  bright  banner  again  to  the  breeze. 

But  permit  us  to  whisper,  kind  friends,  in  your  ear, 

That  union  of  realms,  there  is  reason  to  fear, 

Is  proving  unhappy,  for  the  wits  do  say 

They've  exchanged  not  a  word  since  the  bridal  day! 


NEW-YEARS  DAY  SALUTATION.  195 

The  Old  Year  brought  us  a  visitant  rare — 

A  comet  emerging  from  vast  fields  of  air. 

• 

Nightly  it  hung  out  its  luminous  train, 
Then  vanished  from  sight  for  ages  again, — 
Its  history,  essence  and  object  unknown, 
Through  abysses  of  space,  a  wandering  one. 

In  politics,  too,  there  has  been  much  commotion. 

Buchanan  has  shown  to  the  South  his  devotion. 

'  Little  Dug '  he  refuses  to  own  as  a  brother, 

And  Democracy's  leaders  oppose  one  another. 

The  Republican  phalanx,  a  veteran  host, 

Must  assuredly  triumph,  if  true  to  its  trust; 

For  Freedom 's  our  national  watchword  and  sign, 

And  tyranny's  reign  must  surely  decline. 

Since  sorghum 's  successful,  we  '11  make  our  own  sugar, 

And  no  longer  need  the  purchase  of  Cuba! 

In  the  circle  of  blessings  we  name  but  one  more — 

The  weekly  paper  you  greet  at  your  door. 

A  noiseless  attendant  it  lies  in  your  hand, 

But  pours  out  its  treasures  from  many  a  land. 

A  friend  to  all  classes  and  orders  of  men, 

It  has  honestly  striven  the  right  to  maintain. 

If  the  paper  has  pleased  you,  remember  the  printer, 

And  send  your  subscriptions  in  time  for  the  winter. 

Farewell  to  the  Old  Year!    a  hero  at  rest. 

All  hail  to  the  happy  New  Year! 
Ring  out,  merry  bells,  your  wildest  and  best, 

Let  the  welkin  resound  with  your  cheer ! 

The  book  of  the  future  what  mortal  can  know  V 
Its  pages  are  spotless  as  untrodden  snow; 


196  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

We  must  till  up  the  record   as  onward  we  go. 

Then  trace  it  in  lines  of  beauty  and  light, 

In  words  of  affection,  in  deeds  for  the  right. 

Conquer  thyself!     Such  a  triumph  is  grander 

Than  to  be  of  two  hemispheres  highest  commander. 

Be  faithful  to  God  and  humanity  here, 

And  thine  shall  be  Heaven's  immortal  New  Year! 


,  \januarLj  1,  ' 

[Took  the  Prize.] 


T/rINDLY  greeting,  friends,  we  bring  you,  while  wo    hail 
JLx      the  newborn  year, 

Carols  for  the  infant  monarch,  for  the  dead  one  drop  a  tear. 
Past  a  twelvemonth's  lights  and*  shadows,  springtime  bloom 

and  summer  glory ; 
Past    its    harvest    wealth  and    autumn   tint,  December    chill 

and  hoary; 
Past  its  mocking  hopes  and  witching  scenes:    past   bliss  too 

sweet  to  last. 
Then  welcome,  welcome  to  the  New  Year:  tender  farewells 

to  the  past. 

Yet  would  we  gather  up    its   treasures    and    its    lessons   ere 

we  part; 
Pressing,  as  roseleaves  in  a  book,  its  fragrant  memories   in 

the  heart  ; 


NEW-YEAR'S  ADDRESS.  197 

Sketching  its  living  pictures  in  the  rare  art-chamber  of  the 

brain ; 
Thinking   one   gush  of   its  old    music  will    recall    all    back 

again. 
Our  early  loves  and  joys  should    be  impearl'd   immortal    in 

the  soul, 

A  legacy  for  later  years,  making  life  ever  beautiful. 
Unheeding   this,  men    drink    but   half   the    nectar   of   their 

honey'd  cup. 
'T  is  memory,  as  well  as  hope,  that  fills  life's  golden  chalice 

up ! 

Hear,  then,  the  old  year's  record,  writ  on  history's  impartial 

page. 
Freedom  from  tyranny  was  the  momentous  question  of  the 

age. 
Europe,  whose  proudest  thrones  have  a  volcano  threat'ning 

at  their  base, 

Shook  with  convulsions  stirred,  and  haughty  monarchs  trem- 
bled for  their  place. 

The  contest  maddened  at  Magenta  and  on  Solferino's  plain, 
And  the  fair,  nower-gemm'd  earth  was  strewn  with  stiffened 

corses  of  the  slain. 

Italy  and  Hungary,  long  trodden  bleeding  in  the  dust, 
Were  doomed    by  Villafranca's    peace  to    have  their   hopes 

of  freedom  crushed. 
Yet  'mid  the  deepest  darkness  let  them   bravely  watch  the 

dawning  light, 
Knowing  no  traitorous  peace  can  long  endure,  not  founded 

on  the  right. 

But  hark !    what  thrilling  strains  arc  wafted  from  the  green 
isles  of  the  sea  ? 


198  VIOLETS,  EARLY  A\l>    LATE. 

'T  is  Erin's  thousands  shouting    out    the    rapturous    anthem 

of  the  free. 
Though  vassals  of   a  foreign    court,  yet  now  released   from 

-iifs  control, 
Theirs    is  the    highest  form  of    liberty,  the  freedom  of    the 

soul ! 

O'er  the  blue  Atlantic  waters  comes  the  din  of  strife  again. 
Tumult  waxing  hotter,  fiercer,  on  Virginia's  proud  domain. 
Let  them  hang  the  brave,  misled  man  courts  and  scaffolds 

cannot  move, 
All  the  world  applauds  the  martyr,  sacrificed   for  crime  of 

love  ! 
And  his  death  shall  prove  the  birthday  of  a  people  strong 

and  free, 
And  his  planting  have  its  harvest  in  a  nation's  jubilee! 

The  scene  is  shifted.     Far  away  in  Arctic  regions  and  'mid 

polar  snou  B, 
And    weird,    unbroken    solitudes,    where   venturous    mortal 

seldom  goes, — 
Where  night  and    silence,  sisters  twin,  for  centuries  divide- 

the  sway, — 
Where    mystery    broods    specter-like,    and    science,    baffled, 

yields  the  day, — 
A  lonely  cairn  reveals  the  fate  of  hapless  Franklin  and  his 

crew. 
No  more  his  home  and    native  land   shall    greet   the  gallant 

hern's    view. 

No  more  the  form  he  saw   in  dreams    be  fondly  clasped    to 

his  side. 
Long    years    have    passed,  tliou   watching  widow,  since    thy 

loved  and  lost  one  died  ! 


NEW-YEAR'S  ADDRESS.  199 

Wall,  sighing   winds,  your   saddest   dirge,   and    weep,  tbou 

fitful,  sobbing  rain, 
For  grace  and  beauty,  wit  and  genius,  that  can  never  come 

again. 
Behold,  the    prince  of   nature   dies,  whose    eye    the  world's 

arcana  traced ; 
But  "Cosmos"  shall  enshrine  the  name  of  gifted  Humboldt 

uneffaced. 
And  still  another  orb  declines    in  softened    splendor  in  the 

West : 
Full  of  successes  and  of  toils,  the  Christian    Olmsted    goes 

to  rest. 
Prescott  and  Hallam,  honored  men,  who  chronicled  the  ages 

past ; 
And  Choate,  whose  winning  eloquence  a  gorgeous  memory 

will  last ; 
Genial    Leigh    Hunt    and    graceful    Irving,  both  with  years 

and  honors  crowned  ; 
And  Mann,  the  wise  and  faithful   friend  of   education  ever 

found ; 

And  sainted  James,  the  last  and  best,  to  whom  such  sweet- 
ness here  was  given, 
That  where  he  went,  his  soul  diffused  the  balmy  atmosphere 

of  heaven : 
All   these    have  crossed    the    darksome   valley,  and   the   icy 

river  trod, 

And  while  the.  old  year  rolled  its  round,  their  spirits  home- 
ward went  to  God. 

Our  fair  village  still  rejoices  in  her  growing  thrift  and  fame; 
Only  rum  and  license  sully  the  escutcheon  of  her  name. 


200  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Here  we  close  a  twelvemonth's  drama;   but  the  world  will 

never  know 
All  the  varied    tragedies    that   thrilled    life's    inner    current 

through, — 
The  newborn    bliss    that   made    a   moment    -weeter    than    a 

common  year, — 
The    restless    yearning   for  some    darling   torn    from    love'- 

embraces  here. 
Still  we    know  these  chastenings  are    God's  dear  angels    in 

disguise. 
Lifted    on  their  gentle  wings,  oh,  may  our  weak  affections 

rise. 
May  we  all    next    year  remember  victories    g.-iim'd    o'er   sin 

and  wrong, 
And,  when  ends  life's  bleak  December,  sing  in  heaven  the 

New- Year  song! 


IT  is  a  glorious  autumn  eve.     The  sky 
Has  the  deep,  clear-cut  brilliancy  it  wears 
When  rains  are  over;   while  delicious  airs, 
Fragrant  from  kissing  flowers  of  richest  dye, — 
Whose  bloom  outvies  the  early  tints  of  spring, 
As  new  wives  oft  eclipse  the  shrouded  old, — 
Caress  me  with  exhilarating  touch. 
My  soul  is  tremulous  with  thought  tonight, 
As  violets  o'erfull  of  pearly  dew. 
I  yield  the  hour  to  Fancy's  spell,  and  lo ! 
Unbidden  memories  trooping  start  to  life. 
Again  I  see  the  scenes  of  early  years. 
I  hear  the  voices  that  have  long  been  still, 
And  feel  the  former  thrills  of  joy  or  pain. 
Dimly  arising  from  the  twilight  gloom, 
The  ghost  of  my  departed  hours  appears, 
Waves  her  Aveird  finger  backward  to  the  past, 
Its  buried  opportunities  and  joys, — 
Then,  slowly  fading,  murmurs  '  Nevermore  I ' 
T  heed  the  mystic  word  that  warns  me  of 
My  vanished  prime.     Today  I  'm  Twenty-Eight. 

Of  all  I  hoped  to  accomplish  much  remains 
To  do.     The  fair  ideal  still  I  see, 
Of  spirit  fine,  and  strong,  and  self-possessed, 
And  rounded  in  a  perfect  womanhood. 
'T  is  far  away,  shrined  saintlike,  in  the  clouds. 
Methinks  we  are  but  children  larger  grown, 

[201] 


202  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AM)  LATE. 

Chasing  the  rainbow  we  can  never  reach. 

In  youth  we  dream  and  plan.     For  coming  time 

Looks  long,  as  travelers  deem  the  hills  they  climb. 

How  short  the  retrospect !     The  telescope 

That  magnifies  in  childhood  we  invert 

To  view  the  past.     In  later  life  appears 

More  swift  the  flight  of  our  revolving  years. 

I  would  my  days  were  writ  with  more  accomplish'd 

Good,  more  service  done  humanity, 

More  deeds  for  God.     Though  I  've  not  idle  been, 

I  know  sometimes  I  have  not  toiled  aright, — 

Too  much  have  cared  for  human  praise  or  blame, — 

Not  always  wisely  spent  the  precious  hours. 

Yet  let  me  ne'er  forget  the  humblest  task, 

If  done  for  Christ's  sweet  sake,  is  nobler  than 

The  greatest  done  for  self.     The  motive  elevates. 

'Tis  very  fair  tonight.     Yet  stormy  was 

The  solemn  hour  that  ushered  me  to  life, 

Portending  truly  that  the  fragile  barque 

Thus  wildly  launched  on  Time's  tumultuous  depths 

Should  sometimes  drift  on  troublous  seas.     And  while 

My  soul  is  full  of  melody  tonight, 

And  lifts  adoring  thanks  to  bounteous  Heaven 

For  gifts  unnumbered,  and  my  path  hath  lain 

Far  more  in  shine  than  shadow,  yet  some  thorns 

Have  deeply  pierced  my  heart,  and  so  its  gush 

Of  song  may  sometimes  have  a  strain  of  wo. 

Upon  the  brow  of  wifehood  God  had  set 
His  holiest  seal,  and  crowned  me  Mother.     Ah ! 
A  sweeter  name  and  prouder  throne  than  queen! 
How  dear  that  only  birdling  of  the  nest ! 


TWENTY-EIGHT,  203 

To  me  the  star  of  hope,  the  sun  of  home, 

Pearl,  rose  and  lily,  cherub,  all  in  one ! 

What  thousand  thoughts  into  existence  sprung ! 

A  world  of  love  appeared, — then,  sunk  from  sight, 

And  all  grew  dark  where  had  been  clearest  light. 

Yet  still  I  bless  the  Hand  that  dealt  the  blow. 

'T  was  done  in  purest  love.     I  feel  it  so. 

The  sinless  child  is  safe,  that  to  my  heart  was  given, 

And  suffering  sanctified  makes  meet  for  heaven. 

The  cross  and  crown  are  linked  by  God's  behest. 

The  sweet  and  bitter !    and  't  is  surely  best. 

The  path  to  glory  is  the  martyr's  stake. 

For  freedom's  sacred  cause  some  hearts  must  break. 

And  nations'  death-throes  grander  empires  make. 

The  future  yet  enfolds  a  promise  bud. 

With  chastened  hopes  and  labor-strengthened  hands 

I  gird  me  for  the  coming  work.     There  's  much 

To  live  for  in  such  times  as  these,  when  right 

And  wrong  are  arming  for  the  deadly  tight; 

When  Liberty — our  precious  Isaac — on 

The  altar  lies,  the  blade  of  doom  o'erhung. 

God  send  some  other  sacrifice  to  turn 

His  just  displeasure  from  our  guilty  land. 

God  save  the  nation,  furnace  purified, 

With  nevermore  a  slave  to  clank-  his  chains. 

Woman  must  cheer  the  warrior  to  the  fray 

With  smile  heroic,  though  with  secret  pain ; 

Must  trim  the  homelight,  and  breathe  many  a  prayer; 

Train  a  race  worthy  of  their  patriot  sires, 

Loyal  to  truth  and  God.     Let  each  fulfill 

Her  sacred  trust,  and  better  days  will  come! 


Themes, 


A  CCEPT  sincereM   thanks,- kind  friends, 
jLjL     For  the  rich  gift  yo'i  bring. 
A  C'owper  sang  tin-  sofa's  praise; 

This  silkrn  robe   I   sing, 
And  tender  thoughts  in  coining  days 
Will  for  the  givers  spring. 

Beauty  and   t"se  alike  eoinmend 

This  offering  unto  me. 
'T  is  well,  sweet   friends;    these  charming  twain 

Divinely   wedded   be. 
For  God,  who  funned  the  mighty  main, 

Tints  each   shell   of  the  sea! 

O  maidens  fair!    in  the  loom  of  Fate 
Your  lives  are  weaving  to-night. 

Dark  threads  of  sorrow  and  pain  are  warped 
With  stripes  of  golden  and  white. 

Your  words,  your  deeds  are   spinning  the   thread. 
Oh,  make  it  strong  and  bright! 

The  ravages  of  time  will  soil 

This  soft  and  lustrous  dr.—. 
And  so  must  fade  your  forms,  now  full 

Of  youth  and  loveline^. 
Oh,  then  be  yours  the  spotless  robe 

Of  Christ's  own   righteousness. 
[204] 


[For  a  Tin  Wedding.] 


'"PEN  circling  year^,  in  storm  and  shine, 
i.      In  cold,  in  summer  weather, — 
Ten  years  of  love,  true  wife  of  mine, 

We  've  trod  life's  paths  together. 
Ten  whirling  years !     Not  very  long, 

But,  oh !    enough  for  changes ! 
What  images  around  me  throng, 

As  memory,  wakened,  ranges. 

I  see  thee — in  the  witching  hour 

When  we  were  youth  and  maiden, — 
In  meadows  green,  a  pure  white  flower, 

With  thine  own   sweetness  laden. 
I  see  thee  stand  in  village  school, 

My  blue-eyed  Golden-Hair, 
And  mark  thy  gentle,  kindly  rule 

Among  the  rustics  there. 

The  chains  by  spells  of  beauty  wove 

Grim  time  may  soon  dissever ; 
But  she  whose  dower  is  her  love 

Doth  win  the  heart  forever. 
Soon,  fondly  plighted,   we  were  wed 

In  golden-leaf 'd   October. 
The  maples  flamed,  the  sumac's  red 

Blazed  'mid  the  russet  sober. 
[205] 


206  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

Forth  to  the  busy  world  we  went,  — 

To  floods  of  work  and  care, 
Where  waves  leap  high,  where  sails  an-  rent, 

Where  danger  haunts  the  air. 
Our  barque  was  tossed  on  heaving  seas. 

But  safe  each  gale  did  ride. 
We  never  lost  our  Port  of  IVarr, 

Our  own  dear   high-side. 

When  autumn  rounded  o-.i   tin-  year,  — 
Because  God  loved  us,  maybe,  — 

There  was  another  passenger, 
A  cooing,  blue-eyed  baby  ! 

Oh,  men!    ye  lose  full  half  of  life. 
Its  meaning  and  its  blis- 

Who  choose  your  lot  n-it/mnt  <i  u-if< 

Or  htihifx   i/i  in/ 


Again  our  circle  wider  grew 

For  thee,  my  "little  woman,  "- 
Rooni  for  another  cherub,  too. 

Babes  are  the  angels  human. 
Then  o'er  our  hearts  the  shadow  fell. 

It  was  thy  wing,  O  Death  ! 
But  since  God  doeth  all  tilings  well, 

We  hush  rebellious  breath. 

Ten  blessed  years  'mid  joys  and  tears, 

Sweetheart!    let  hope  empower. 
Here  are  our  friends,   who>e  presence  cheers 

And  crowns  this  festal  hour. 
We  thank  you  all.     Our  souls  are  full. 

Heaven  bless  each  kindly   heart. 
God  help  us  make  life  beautiful, 

And  nobly  do  our  part  ! 


of   Grief, 

[To  a  Mother  bereaved  of  her  first-born.] 


r-pHEY  tell  me  he  is  dead! 

1      That  your  sweet  rosebud  from  the  stem  is  torn, 
The  rarest  jewel  from  your  breast  is  borne, — 
That  at  the  fireside  robbed  you  grieve  and  mourn, 
Your  tender  nestling  fled. 

I  know  how  sore  your  wo. 

With  anguish'd  heartstrings  wildly  rent  in  twain, 
In  death's  cold  arms  an  only  babe  I've  lain 
Never  to  clasp  that  precious  form  again, 

Nor  press  those  lips  of  snow. 

What  hopes  have  paled  apace ! 
For  him  a  nobler  life  you  would  begin ; 
lie  should  be  wiser  than  you  could  have  been,T--/ 
Perhaps  among  earth's  benef actors  win 

A  high  and  honored  place. 

That  blissful  dream  is  o'er. 
But  since  full  many  a  snare  lures  tiny  feet, 
And  now  your  darling  treads  the  heavenly  street, 
And  you  've  an  angel  child, — this  is  so  sweet, 

You  cannot  murmur  more. 

In  truest  love  't  was  done. 
As  when  the  shepherd  from  the  dreary  wold 
Would  lead  the  lingering  flocks  to  summits  bold, 

[207] 


208  VIOLETS,  EARLY  AND  LATE. 

His  gentle  arms  an  infant  lamb  enfold, 
Knowing  'twill  speed  them  on. 

Through  clouds  God's  mercy  shines. 
All  suffering  has  a  heaven-appointed  use. 
Some  plants  when  trodden  richer  balm  diffuse. 
The  shapeless  block  a  patient  sculptor  hews 

To  beauty's  perfect  lines. 

Accept  the  seal  of  love. 

The  parent  chastening  proves  his  pity  great. 
Naught  can  befall  by  chance  or  sullen  fate. 
Griefs  are  veiled  angels,  that  around  us  wait 

To  wing  the  soul  above. 

Death  opes  the  pearly  door 
To  eyes  that  gaze  submissively  through  tears. 
Beyond  the  clamor  of  tempestuous  fears, 
Thy  sainted  one  with  beckoning  smiles  appears 

On  heaven's  resplendent  shore. 

Oh,  most  exceeding  bliss ! 

There  lives  thy  child,  not  lost,  but  still  thine  on-,,. 
By  seraphs  taught,  more  wise  and  noble  grown. 
Thou,  too,  by  dainty  baby  hands  art  drawn 

To  better  worlds  than  this! 


Poet   -Aft/aibing    a    Verdict, 


OUT  on  the  restless  ocean, 
The  uncertain  sea  of  life, 
Amid  the  roar  and  motion 

Of  business  and  of  strife, 
I  cast  my  cherished  bantlings, 
The  children  of  my  brain, 
And  wondered  what  their  future 
Till  they  sail  back  again. 

Those  seabirds  of  my  bosom, 

Trilling  of  love  and  home,- 
Those  creatures  of  my  fancy, 

Now  sent  afar  to  roam. 
Oh,  what  shall  be  their  future  'J. 

With  flight  sustained  and  strong, 
To  light  on  some  fair  islet, 

And  charm  the  town  with  song  ? 

Or,  chilled  and  plumage  ruffled, 

To  sink  where  billows  rave, 
Their  music  caught  and  chanted 

By  tuneful  wind  and  wave  ? 
Or,  worse,  quick  home  returning, 

No  gift  of  song  to  find, 
But  tied  around  their  dumb,  sleek  necks 

The  luckless  word,  '  Declined  ?  ' 

[209] 


M(-|    Birds, 


J'T'IS  said  that  when  the  Heavenly  Child 
i.      Had  playful  fashioned  birds  of  clay, 
Into  the  cold,  mute  forms  he  breathed, 
And  lo !   they  singing  flew  away ! 

Lord,  I  have  wrought  my  birds  with  care-. 

They  will  bo  lifeless  without  Thee. 
Oh,  breathe  in  them  and  in  me  breathe, 

That  both  alive  and  tuneful  be. 


Violebs. 


QWEET  Violets,  your  deep-blue  eyes 

0  Almost  bring  tears  into  my  own. 
Ye  waken  childhood  memories, 

Ye  call  back  jocund  days  long  flown. 

1  dream  of  Aprils,  when,  a  maid 

I  roamed  the  song-filled  groves  amid, 
'Neath  green-umbrella  leaves  of  shade 

I  found  you  "  in  poke-bonnets  "  hid, 
Demure  and  modest,   clad  in  blue, 
The  color  dear  to  lovers  true 
A  gaudier  flower  may  charm  the  eye ; 
I  prize  your  meek  simplicity. 
Upspringing  'neath  the  snow  and  rain, 
You  bravely  lead  the  flowery  train. 
When  Mother  Earth  receives  my  head, 
Plant  Violets  upon  my  bed ; 
And  say,  with  your  unstudied  art, — 
'  \Vlio  sleeps  below  gave  all  a  part 
Of  that  which  was  her  best — her  heart/ 


[211] 


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